Preparing the Way
by Casmoiraitiel
Summary: Part 1.  A series of military murders are now being called sacrifices.  Sam and Dean are sent by Castiel to join Gibbs' team to discover what is happening and to prevent whatever the sacrifices are meant to accomplish.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Part 1 – Preparing the Way. I do hope you're prepared for lots of drama and hurt. Be kind! Review! Lots of love.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR NCIS.**

Dean Winchester stood outside of Bobby Singer's old house, his shirt long since shed and tossed aside with the heat of the day as he worked under the hood of his beloved Impala. Bobby had been busy, but work had been slow, tracking demonic omens across the entire country. Taking the extra time, the older Winchester had settled in for a long overdue tune-up on his baby. It was time for a spark plug and oil change, menial tasks he didn't trust to anyone else.

He straightened up, reaching for the beer that perched on his tool kit, taking a long drink as the slight breeze cooled his sweat soaked skin. Castiel's hand print was still seared on his shoulder, a constant reminder of his rescue from Hell, a reminder that, at one time, he had been destined to be Heaven's vessel. Those had been dark days for him and for his brother, and the days that followed had been even darker. Now that the Apocalypse had passed without the fated battle between Michael and Lucifer, anarchy ruled Heaven and Hell, rules no longer applying to the fight for souls. Castiel was left rallying the legions of Heaven's army while the Winchester's fought to keep the locals out of harms way. It was proving to be a tedious job.

"About finished?"

Dean glanced over at the doorway, just able to make out his brother's overly tall silhouette against the doorframe. "Yeah," he responded gruffly, draining the last of his beer. "Bobby find something?" He slammed the hood, retrieving his shirt from the grass and pulling it over his head.

"Sort of," Sam answered, stepping back to let Dean pass.

"What does 'sort of' mean?" he scoffed, plopping down in his customary seat near Bobby's desk.

"Means I got a phone call a few minutes ago," Bobby stated, "from a contact in D.C."

"Fed country?" the older brother retorted bitterly. "No thanks."

"May not be an option to say no." He leveled a solid gaze at the young man in front of him. "Did some checkin'. Those other omens are nothin' but distractions. Somethin' big is happenin'. Too big for the cut-rate hunters in the area."

"Any ideas?" Sam asked, finally finding his own chair.

"Nothin' we've seen before. Sure, there are the usual slew of demons and enough monsters to make a convincing monster movie of the century, but they're gatherin' for somethin'...and it's big."

They sat in silent contemplation for a long moment before they were interrupted by a sudden fluttering, the trench coat wearing, dark-haired angel appearing in their midst. His arrival came as something of a surprise as he'd been away for the better part of a month after his fight with Rachael.

"Good," Castiel stated, looking between the three of them, "you got the call."

"Shoulda guessed you'd be involved," the grizzled hunter sighed. "What are we walkin' into?"

"I...am not entirely sure," the angel confessed, "but there has already been much bloodshed."

"Sacrifices?" Sam queried.

"It appears so."

"Who is bein' sacrificed?" Dean dared, sitting forward.

"From what I can tell...the sacrifices are limited to...warriors."

"Warriors." The older Winchester sat forward. "Like..."

"Military," Sam finished quietly.

"Exactly," Castiel confirmed. "I cannot investigate. Even with my vessel, I would be easily compromised there, so I must ask for your help."

"Cas," Dean sighed, an eyebrow raised in question, "we walk in flashin' badges in our usual way, things are gonna go south real fast."

The angel turned to the man he considered his friend above all else. They regarded each other for a long moment.

"Do you trust me?" the angel finally asked, his eyes narrowed slightly and his head tilted.

"Most of the time," came the answer from a suddenly cautious hunter.

"There is...a team, a very capable team, that will assist you. They will be waiting for you in Washington."

"A team of what?" Dean demanded. "Hunters?"

"Naval Criminal Investigators."

"Feds?" Dean exploded. "You've officially lost your mind, Cas! They're gonna get one look at us and toss us behind bars...just like Henrickson!"

"I asked if you trusted me, Dean," Castiel countered firmly.

"If I say 'yes,' do I get a friggin' cookie?"

"The way will be prepared for you." He ignored the blatant sarcasm in the hunter's voice.

"Prepared?" Wearily, Dean rubbed the heal of his palm against his eye. Sometimes, Cas exhausted him. More and more lately, he had been almost expecting the brothers to follow him without question, frustrated when they seemed to be taking longer than he deemed necessary. He looked up as he heard the departed flutter, biting back an annoyed curse. "Gonna give me a damned stroke."

"So...what?" Sam ventured, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "We goin'?"

"Don't look like a choice, son." Bobby sat back heavily in his chair, looking between the two brothers. "Cas says everything's in order. Might as well go in with our eyes open."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat before finally pushing himself to his feet. He stalked out of the room and up the stairs, his demeanor daring anyone to follow him.

Sam watched his brother go, apprehensive at first. He understood the feeling, though. They were both exhausted, overused on cases that threatened the end of the world. They had just defeated Eve and were now facing another unknown. Every time something new and big arose, the lost good people. All they had left this time was each other and Bobby. Now, Castiel was looking to bring a civilian team into the mix, most likely with no supernatural experience at all.

"Really gonna have to set some ground rules with Cas," Bobby sighed, moving unsteaily toward the kitchen. "Got us runnin' all over God's green Earth."

Sam couldn't help but smirk, listening to the older man grumble as he began rummaging through the kitchen drawers. HE found his own way to the stairs, his feet following the same path his brother had taken.

Dean was furiously packing their duffel in one of the guest rooms, the clothes haphazardly mixed in with the weapons. Sam leaned against the door frame, his arms loosely crossed, watching the tense hunter pace.

"The hell is he thinkin', Sammy?" came the eventual question as Dean paused, his hands on his hips. "These people..._innocent_ people...We're gonna be leandin' them into slaughter. When is enough..._enough?_"

"These people are cops, Dean," he argued. "At least they're, ya know, sort of trained. We've teamed with worse."

Unbidden memories of the Ghostfacers popped into his mind and he grimaced, "Gee, thanks, Sammy."

"I'm just sayin',...things could be worse."

Reluctantly, the older brother agreed, leaving them both only to wonder what they could possibly be in for this time. The mission so far was more cryptic than they liked and now they were blindly following Castiel rather than he, them.

"I don't wanna see anyone else killed," Dean finally admitted, more sedately completing the packing, "that's all."

"I know." He nodded, dropping his hands to his sides. "I know."

**~8675309~**

"C'mon, McGoo," the brown-haired federal agent taunted, grinning roguishly at the man behind the desk beside him. He tossed a paper wad into the further trashcan, kicking back in his seat.

The blond-haired agent tossed a look of annoyance from the corner of his eye, making himself busy at his computer. He ignored the chuckle sounding from the raven-haired Israeli woman across from him. "What makes you think I've had _time_ to work on anything else, Tony?" he shot back, his fingers hitting harder against the keyboard.

"You're...always working, probie," Tony replied, his eye twitching slightly with the thought.

"This is true, McGee," she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a smile tuging at the sensual corners of her mouth. "At least...when you are not playing Elflord."

"Taking a break, Ziva," he sighed, sitting back, staring blankly at the code that flashed across his screen. "Yes, I've been writing, and _no,_ Tony, no sneak peeks." He looked over at his partner. "Don't know if I can finish this one."

"You have writer's stop, McGee?"

"Block, Ziva. Writer's _block_," Tony corrected, narrowing his eyes as he regarded the younger man. Despite his continual picking, Tony was actually starting to worry for him. He couldn't help but notice how pale and tired Timothy McGee seemed, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than they'd ever been. Even in the last case, McGee had been slower and distracted, drawing barked reprimands from their team leader. Briefly, he wondered if the change was linked to the rapid weight loss of the now eerily-thin agent.

"Whatever," she said dismissively, reaching for the knife on the corner of her desk.

"Yeah, something like that," McGee mumbled.

Tony shook his head, choosing to drop the subject, instead settling in to watch the agent. Work had been slow over the past few days, leaving the team with little to do. Easily bored, Tony had resorted to his favorite past-time of pestered the probationary agent beside him. McGee, however, now just seemed exhausted, even more pale than he'd been at the start of the day.

"You don't look so good, McProbie," he eventually ventured, taken slightly aback by the noncommittal grunt he received in response. He cast a quick glance at Ziva, noting that she'd noticed as well.

"Not enough work to do?"

The brisk bark sent Tony and Ziva scrambling to sit up and look busy as the graying team leader, former Gunny Leroy Jethro Gibbs, strode into the bullpen.

"No, boss...I mean, yes, boss," Tony answered, his eyes following the older man's trek across the floor.

Gibbs paused, looking down at McGee, who seemed to be staring at nothing. "McGee?" he asked.

"He's been kinda out of it, boss."

Gibbs grunted, receiving no reply from the young agent. "McGee!" he repeated a bit louder, kneeling beside him. He pressed his fingertips to McGee's neck, feeling the feeble pulse. "Hey, DiNozzo, help me get him up and movin'."

Together, they walked the young agent around the bullpen, attempting to get his heart rate up.

"Boss?" McGee managed thickly, coming to himself a bit. "Don't...don't feel so good, boss."

"Call Ducky, Ziver," Gibbs ordered, feeling McGee's head roll limply over against his shoulder.

With the sickly agent supported firmly between them, they kept him moving until the medical examiner, Dr. Donald Mallard, emerged from the elevator, ambling quickly over. Carefully, they lowered him back into his chair so the doctor could work.

"Pupils fixed and unresponsive," the doctor stated, his English timbre heavy with worry. "Sluggish respiration." He shook his head, reaching for a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. There was a long moment where the only sound was the hissing of the cuff on McGee's arm.

"Gibbs!" the call broke through the tension, Director Leon Vance leaning against the railing above to observe the scene below. "Mind tellin' me what's goin' on?" He jogged down the steps, occasionally ordering a stray, gawking agent back to work. "Everything okay with McGee, Dr. Mallard?"

The Englishman looked up at the dark-skinned, well kept director, sliding the cuff from the agent's arm. "Not at all, director. He needs tests that I cannot preform here." He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, attempting to rouse the young man sitting in front of him. "I believe an immediate visit to the hospital is in order for young Timothy."

"I'll take him, boss," DiNozzo offered, receiving an approving nod from his superiors. They helped him get McGee ready to move and he carried him toward the elevator.

"Keep me posted, Gibbs," Vance ordered, removing the slightly chewed toothpick from between his lips.

"When we know somethin', _director,_" Gibbs answered, only a slight hint of distaste flavoring his words. He'd never truly gotten along with Vance.

Without another word, Gibbs turned and strode to the elevator himself, disappearing behind the closing doors. He punched the button to take him down to the labrotory, walking quietly out when the doors slid open. He was greeted by the typical heavy metal that Abigail Sciuto, his favorite forensic scientist, blared from the stereo in the lab while she worked. She and McGee had always been close. She would know if there was anything wrong with him.

He tugged on one of her black braided pigtails, smiling slightly at the skull barrette that secured it. Abby was truly unique, head-to-toe Goth.

"Hey, Gibbs!" she quipped, looking up from the microscope. "We got a case?"

"No, Abs," he answered, tweaking her chin.

She worried her lip, noting the tension that lined his eyes. "Then what is it, Gibbs? What happened? Did someone die? Someone died, didn't they?" Tell me, Gibbs!" Her eyes were wide and she shifted from foot to foot, wringing her hands. Ever excitable, she had jumped to the worst conclusion possible.

"What can you tell me about McGee, Abs?"

She blinked, confused. "What about Timmy, Gibbs?"

"How's he doin', Abby?"

"What's wrong? Timmy's not said anything." She leaned back against the counter, studying the older man. "Is this about the weight thing? He's on a diet, ya know."

"Tony's takin' him to the hospital."

"What?" she screeched, clutching Gibbs' forearms.

Reluctantly, he explained what had happened upstairs. Immediately, she switched off the music and moved to her office, shedding the labcoat.

"What are you doin', Abby?" he asked quietly.

"Going to McGee." She reached for her jacket, watching Gibbs from the corner of her eye. "Yes, we dated and _yes,_ I care about Timmy. I can't just leave him alone!"

"He's with Tony."

"Not the point!" Despite her attempt to remain collected, her chin trembled in a slight pout. "Tony can't hug him like I can...and what if something _is_ wrong? I need to be there!" She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he gently patted her back.

He only nodded, stepping away as she pushed past him to head out of the lab, only taking the time to pause and switch off her machinery. Slightly disappointed and worried that no one seemed to be in the know about what was going on with his agent, he followed moments later, returning to the bullpen.

**000010000**

McGee blinked blearily, trying to clear the cloudy cover from his eyes. He felt weak and drained, even the small effort of lifting his arm winding him. A groan escaped his lips and he looked up at the ceiling, his mind racing.

"Special Agent Timothy McGee."

Shock propelled him upward as he heard the deep, unfamiliar voice echo throughout his room. Instinctively, he reached to his side for his weapon, finding only a handful of hospital gown to greet him. Confused, he looked around, his eyes coming to rest on a dark-haired man standing by the window. The man appeared to be wearing a suit and trench coat, another agent, he guessed, maybe posted by his boss to keep watch.

"Did Gibbs send you?" he asked, a slight wheeze behind his words. "Who are you?"

The man paced closer to the bed, easing McGee back against the pillow. With a gesture, the bed whirred, adjusted itself to where the agent was sitting slightly upright. "Gibbs did not send me." He tilted his head slightly, seeming to stare through the man in front of him. "My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord."

McGee swallowed awkwardly. "An...an angel? Am I dying?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

Tears stung the agent's eyes, but he shook his head. "I'm dreaming. This is all a dream."

"It...is not a dream." An intensity seemed to settle over the angel, a clash of thunder echoing through the four corners of the room.

McGee cried out, shielding his eyes as the shadow of wings stretched across the far wall. Trembles coursed through him long after the shadow had faded. He lowered his hands, expecting to be along again in the room. Instead, he found the angel called Castiel still standing in the same position. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"What is it you want from me?" He licked his lips nervously, his wide eyes darting around the air as if expecting another shock. "What's wrong with me?"

"You have cancer," came the emotionless response, "leukemia. The bruising you have been ignoring, the fatigue, the weakness...The cancer is far progressed. I am sorry."

_Leukemia,_ he thought, the news hitting him hard.

"Your job, however, is not finished here, Timothy. Heaven has need of you and your team. I need you to deliver a message to your boss, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"What...what message?" he managed, trying to still his racing heart.

"Two men will be arriving here tomorrow," the angel stated carefully, "they are called hunters. Your team is to provide them shelter and protect them at all cost. When they have arrived, I will return. You will learn then what is to be done."

With those words, Castiel disappeared, leaving a very addled Timothy McGee laying against the hospital bed with a million thoughts coursing through his mind. He was sick, he was dying, and Heaven had a mission for him and his team.

**tbc...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews on the first chapter of the crossover! It's good to see that there's a bit of interest in what I'm doing. I hope I don't disappoint. I promise, I will reply to you all. I've barely had time to write over the past few days. My husband has been introducing me to the new area, so I've not really been home. I hope this tides you over until I'm able to get something else written. It may be a little sloppy, I simply do not have time to edit at the moment. Let me know in a review and again, thanks so much. You guys are wonderful!**

"Tony!" McGee exclaimed, greeting the man who'd just sauntered through the door. "Tony, we have to go."

"Whoa, probie. We're not going anywhere just yet. We don't know what's wrong with you."

"I do." He started to push himself off the bed only to find Tony pushing him back, looking down at him sternly. It was a look he certainly was not accustomed to coming from his partner.

"There's someone here to see you, McGee," he said quietly, his gaze piercing into the younger man, "and what do you mean 'you do?'"

He shrugged limply, knowing that he had to get a message to his boss, knowing that there was nothing these doctors could do for him.

"That's your one free pass, McGee," Tony warned, stepping back to the doorway. He gestured and stepped back, letting Abby pass him into the room.

She immediately went to the bed, nosily pulling the chair closer so she could grip his hand as she plopped down, dropping her bag beside her on the floor. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick, Tim?" she demanded, her brow furrowed as she leaned close to him. "What's wrong? Have the doctors spoke to you yet?"

"No," he sighed, "the doctors haven't talked to me yet." He looked over at Abby imploringly, completely ignoring the fact that Tony was still in the room. "I have to get out of here, Abby. I have to talk to Gibbs."

"Timmy, you can't leave until the doctors say it's okay! You're sick."

"I know I'm sick." Weakly, he sank his head back against the pillow, a single tear leaking from the corner of his eye. Never before had he felt so helpless. He'd always been the one to forge his own way. While he might never have been the strongest or the fastest, he'd made up for it by being the smartest and the best at what he was best at. Now he was laying in a hospital bed at the mercy of the cancer that coursed through his veins, the illness he'd ignored all signs of. He felt a slight pressure as Abby squeezed his hand, drawing his eyes back to hers. "I'm scared, Abby." His voice was small, trembling, his words coming out in a half sob. "So scared."

"The doctor's will find..."

"Leukemia," he interjected, "the doctor's will find leukemia. Progressed too far to cure." He wiped at his eyes with the back of his free hand, exhaling a shaking breath. "Now can we go...please? I have to talk to Gibbs."

"Wait a minute, Tim," Tony said, catching McGee's attention. The senior field agent rarely used his first name and usually only when taunting him. He stepped over behind Abby, peering down at his partner. "You expect to drop a bombshell like that and then...go back to work? Before the docs tell you that's what's actually wrong with you? You've lost your mind, right?"

"No," McGee said irritably, "well, yes. Maybe." His brow furrowed in confusion.

"What did you see, Timmy?" Abby asked softly. "The Angel of Death? 'Cause that's totally understandable."

He looked pointedly at Tony, "I refuse to take any teasing for this, DiNozzo."

"What?" Tony asked, clearly affronted.

The sickly agent looked back to Abby, collecting his thoughts before he finally spoke. "There _was _an angel, but I don't think he was the angel of death. I know...I know it sounds crazy and I'm not entirely sure I believe it myself, but...he told me that I'm dying. He told me what the doctors would find." He took a deep breath. "I didn't believe him, of course. I mean, he could have been anybody. He was standing there, by the window." The monitor beside him set off several warning beeps as his heart rate increased. "I saw his wings, though. I've never...never felt like that before...scared, in awe."

Abby's eyes had widened, but she sat forward, absorbing everything that her best friend had to say. "Go on, Timmy. It's okay."

"He told me...that my work wasn't finished. That Heaven had a job for the team. He told me to get a message to Gibbs and that he'd come back." He looked back and forth between the two of them, his eyes practically pleading for belief, for acknowledgment that he wasn't crazy.

Tony looked for a moment as if he were going to laugh, but it quickly faded as he saw the look on McGee's face. There was an intensity there that confused him. "This angel have a name?" he asked instead, clearing his throat to shake the laugh away from where it had paused.

"Castiel," he responded slowly, recalling the dark-haired angel in his mind, "and he looks like us...I thought he was another agent at first." He worried his bottom lip, his mind racing. "I mean...it could have been a dream, but I...I don't think it was."

Abby shifted slightly, "I guess you'll just have to wait and see what the doctors say," she said confidently, "if it's what he said it was, then you'll know you weren't dreaming." She paused as McGee looked back at her, thinking she'd sounded heartless. "Oh, Timmy, I don't mean...I didn't mean...I don't want you to have leukemia! It's not...I'm sorry. I know how terrible that sounded!"

"No, Abby." He took her hand in his own again as she quieted. "That's exactly what I was thinking. Proof. Even...even if it is bad."

They waited, long into the evening, Abby and McGee passing the time with whatever they could find to talk about while Tony stood watch by the door. He noticed that the two had huddled closer and were mostly talking about codes and gaming, an easy way for them to distract themselves from the daunting news that hung over them. Tony found himself contemplating the entire day, hanging over what his partner had said. Sure, he was a believer of sorts, but he couldn't help his skepticism.

It was evening before a doctor eventually wandered in, reading over McGee's chart. He looked down at the agent on the bed, his eyes briefly flashing over the woman at his side and the agent by the door.

"I'm Dr. Cartwright, Agent McGee," he greeted, "I'm an Oncologist. Your case has been assigned to me." He paused briefly, adjusting the chart more comfortably in his hands. "Perhaps it would be better if we spoke in private?"

"No," McGee answered quietly. "They're my family. They hear what I hear."

Dr. Cartwright nodded, clearing his throat. "I'm afraid the news isn't good. You have a progressed, aggressive bout of leukemia. We can try to treat it, but I'm afraid we found it too late. Anything we might try at this point would most likely reduce the time you have left."

He felt Abby's hand tighten around his and she looked away, her breath catching as she fought back tears. He, himself, felt winded. The news had confirmed that he hadn't been dreaming, but hearing the news from a doctor had seemed to seal his fate. "How...how long do I have?" he managed to ask, his vision swimming.

"I'm sorry to say that it's only a few weeks. Three at the most." He favored the agent with a sympathetic gaze. "All we can do from this point is make you comfortable."

Bravely, McGee nodded. "Get me what I need as soon as you're able. I'd like...I'd like to get out of here."

"Of course," the doctor consented, turning on his heel and moving from the room to leave the three of them alone again.

Shocked, it took a long while before anyone was able to speak. It was Abby's small sob that drew them back to themselves, McGee immediately pulling her into a hug.

"It's okay," he murmured, lightly rubbing her back as they rocked back and forth. "Shhh, Abs. Please don't cry."

She sniffled against his shoulder, shaking her head.

Tony, feeling numb and disconnected, silently excused himself from the room, lifting his phone to his ear automatically, Gibbs' number queued on speed dial.

"_Yeah, DiNozzo?"_ Gibbs answered, waiting for a response. "_DiNozzo! News?"_

He shook himself out of the daze, clearing his throat. "It's, uh...it's not good, boss. We need to meet...as a team. Now."

"_The hell's happenin'? McGee okay?"_

"No, boss." Tony hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes clamped shut. He could feel the stress of coursing through his body. "I'd rather not discuss this...like this. We need to meet."

It took a long moment before the team leader responded, his mind obviously trying to work out what his senior field agent wasn't telling him. "_Alright. Swing by my place. We're leaving now."_

"Ducky too, boss," Tony added before hanging up, sliding the phone back in his pocket. He sighed heavily, turning back to the room. During his brief time out of the room, the doctor had returned with prescriptions for pain medication and sedatives, and was instructing a subdued McGee and Abby on how and when to administer the drugs to make him as comfortable as he could be.

The next half hour was spent redressing the weak agent and helping him to the desk to sign himself out. He refused the wheel chair, making his own way to the elevator with Abby on his arm, the three of them leaving the hospital together. Abby opted to leave her car in the lot, instead sliding into the backseat of the NCIS issued car Tony had borrowed.

They drove in silence to Gibbs' house, finding three cars in the drive. Ziva's Mini Cooper was parked haphazardly on the sidewalk behind Gibb's truck, and Ducky's Morgan was tucked neatly against the curb, leaving a spot just in front of it for Tony to pull into. They made their way to the front door, finding it opening before they could knock, Ziva waiting impatiently on the other side.

The entire team settled around Gibbs' small dining table, taking one of the beers that had been left on the table for them.

"Well?" Gibbs asked, breaking the silence. He gazed at McGee, trying to read the young agent.

"I'm dying," McGee stated, taking a large gulp of the amber liquid, "and there's nothing they can do."

"Oh, my," Ducky managed as the team was shocked into silence. "What did they find, Timothy?"

Resigning himself to breaking the news, the young agent repeated what the doctor had told him, his hands shaking, belying the calm exterior he was attempting to maintain for the sake of his colleagues.

It seemed like the dam burst all at once, the three they'd just told breaking out into immediate demands that he get a second opinion. He let them talk for a long moment before he sat his beer heavily on the table and stood.

"Look, I thought about it. I'm scared to death," he confessed, "but there's something bigger going on here than just us." He gulped nervously. "I don't wanna die. Trust me." He felt Abby take his hand again. "What I have to tell you...you're gonna think I'm nuts." He had started to stammer in his anxiousness. "Two men are arriving here tomorrow, and we've been given the job of keeping them safe."

"Given the job?" Gibbs repeated, his eyes narrowed as he tried to put aside the rest of what they'd been told. "By who?"

He tried not to watch his boss as he retold of Castiel's visit. Instead, he resorted to staring pointedly at the table and concentrating on the feel of Abby's hand in his. The story finished, greeted only by more silence as they others seemed to try to process what he was saying.

"An...angel?" Ziva murmured, blinking.

"I know it sounds crazy," Tony quipped, speaking for the first time since they'd arrived, "but so far, McGoo is batting one for two. He knew the docs were gonna say leukemia. I say...let's see if these guys show up tomorrow before we make any other decisions." He drained what was left in his bottle, licking his lips noisily. "Besides, I think Vance is gonna give us all the time off we need."

"And maybe, just maybe," Abby added, "there's a chance these guys...this angel...can cure Timmy."

**000010000**

"Dude," Dean complained as they crossed yet another state line, bringing them closer to their destination, "I still can't believe we're plunging headlong and blind into Fed Capital, USA." He hadn't even turned on the radio since they'd left Bobby's, feeling his guts churning at the thought of being back on the radar of the country's most wanted criminals. He knew that technically, he and his brother were listed as dead, but a little digging and a little work would bring that ruse right back out into the open.

"Look, Dean," Sam stated calmly, "we have to stop whatever this is. That's our job, remember?"

"First dad, then Crowley, now Cas! Are we ever gonna work for ourselves?" he spat, running his hand raggedly through his hair.

"There is no reason to be bitter with me," Castiel spoke from the backseat, drawing a curse from Dean as he swerved in surprise.

"Dammit, Cas!"

"This is the address," he continued, ignoring Dean. He handed a slip of paper to Sam before he spoke again. "The team is ready for your arrival. I have only spoken to one, Timothy McGee, but I am confident he has delivered my message. Once you are inside, I will join you." The fluttering of wings accompanied the last word as Castiel left the backseat of the Impala, leaving the brothers alone again.

Sam glanced down at the paper. They were about two hours away from Washington. He looked over at his brother, chewing on the inside of his lip thoughtfully as he watched the thoughts play across his brother's face. "Just bite the bullet, Dean. We've been through worse."

"Yeah." His mood, however, didn't improve, even when they'd pulled up in front of the small house that Cas had directed them too. They did, however, notice the four cars that were parked outside. Dean reached under his seat, retrieving his gun and making sure it was in working order before climbing out of the car, securing the weapon beneath his shirt in it's usual place, against his back. He slid on a jacket, choosing to leave the duffel with their weapons inside, not wanting to draw immediate unnecessary attention to them.

Exchanging a heavy look with his younger brother, he jerked his head toward the door, and they fell in step together, moving up the small walkway. It was Sam, however, who raised his hand to knock, leaving them waiting for what seemed like an eternity until an older man pulled the door open, greeting them with a calculating stare.

"Uh, I'm Sam, and this is Dean," Sam greeted, coughing to clear his throat. "I...believe you're expecting us."

It took a moment for the graying man to step aside, letting them into the house. They drew up short as they found another man and woman standing just inside, each with a gun trained on them. The man who'd let them in easily found Dean's gun, taking and unloading it before sitting it aside.

"Well, this is just peachy," Dean mumbled under his breath. "So much for Cas 'preparing the way.'"

Nervously, Sam smiled, shrugging as he held his hands out imploringly. "I don't suppose one of you knows a Timothy McGee?"

**tbc...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Continued thanks for such wonderful reviews. Here is your next installment. I hope you enjoy!**

Gibbs jerked his head toward the living room, sending the two newcomers in to perch on the couch before disappearing down the hallway. The two agents continued to train their guns on them, keeping them pinned in place. Dean looked over at his brother, his gaze seeming to clearly say 'I told you so.'

"What now?" he mouthed in question, the glint off the barrels of the guns catching the corner of his eye. He rolled his eyes at Sam's almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulder.

They were left to wait in silence, uncomfortably waiting as prisoners until either the agent they'd never met came to rescue them or Castiel showed up to hold up his end of the bargain. It was a while before unsteady shuffling sounds greeted them from the hallway and a very pale agent, flanked by Gibbs, made his way into the living room. The trek was painful to watch, the young agent's face pinched and pale in pain and exhaustion. Even his eyes seemed to have drained of color, an overall eerie effect that seemed to startle the rest of those in the room, suggesting that he'd not been at least that bad since they'd seen him last.

"I am...Tim McGee," he said breathlessly by way of introduction, his hands resting heavily for support on the back of the recliner in front of him as he looked over the two men on the couch.

"I'm Dean Winchester," Dean offered, gesturing at his brother, "and that's my brother Sam. We're friends of Cas...Castiel."

"You're the hunters?" he asked, looking them over. "Not quite as...big as I expected."

"Well, you're not exactly as healthy as we expected either," Dean retorted, drawing a sharp elbow to the rib from his sibling. "Sorry."

"Why are you here?" the gray-haired agent demanded, obviously used to handling interrogations. "And what the hell do you hunt? Why are angels bothering my agent?" He seemed as if he was struggling to come to grips with the last question he'd forced from his lips.

"We have no idea why we're here," Sam finally stated. "All we know is that it has something to do with the military personnel deaths. Castiel seems to think they're being sacrificed. That's what we do."

"Anything supernatural or just plain out freaky, that's our territory," Dean added, seeming to come to himself a bit. "We're sitting in South Dakota, I'm working on my car, Sam's inside looking over demonic and supernatural omens with Bobby, then all of a sudden, the angel on our shoulder is sending us across the country into territory we no way in hell belong in..." He paused, noting the mutual expressions that seemed to have crossed the faces of the others gathered in the room.

"Demons? Supernatural? Angels?" the other male agent piped up, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "The hell is going on here, boss? Sounds like...a bad monster movie remake. And sacrifices? We'd have heard if soldiers were being killed."

"DiNozzo!" the older man barked.

"Shutting up, boss."

"McGee?"

"Yes, boss."

"What do we do?" Gibbs looked over at his young teammate, waiting for direction.

"We need Cas," Dean spoke as McGee seemed to be sorting options in his head, "and he," he pointed at Tim, "needs to sit down."

Gibbs helped ease McGee into the recliner, nodding reluctantly. "How, exactly, does one contact an angel?"

"This one?" Dean narrowed his eyes, but clasped his hands together as if preparing to pray. He inhaled deeply and glanced upward, feeling all eyes in the room directed toward him. "Dear Castiel," he began, pausing briefly, "get your ass down here. We held up our end of the deal, now come and deal with yours."

"Very inspiring, Dean," came the deep voice from the corner of the room, sending the agents turning on their heels to locate the source as the dark-haired man strode out of the shadows. "You could have just called."

"A nice, 'hey, how are ya" while we're sittin' here with guns pointed at us? No thanks, Cas," Dean said grumpily, crossing his arms.

Castiel turned slightly as he heard the safety switch off on the female agent's gun. He favored her with an unusually sensitive gaze. "There is no need for violence, Ziva David." He took a brief moment to make eye contact with each person in the room, taking note of the additional weapons that appeared to have materialized out of nowhere. His sudden appearance had caused a great unease in the room, easily felt in the tension that surrounded them. "I am Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord."

"Do all angels wear trench coats?" DiNozzo quipped, his lopsided grin easily visible behind the gun he had leveled at Castiel's head.

"He doesn't quite grasp the concept of 'humor,'" Sam spoke up before Castiel could respond.

"Gibbs! Where's Tim..." the call send heads turning to the hallway, where Abby had appeared and frozen in place as she found the scene in front of her.

"It's okay, Abs, he's here."

Dean nudged his brother as Abby stepped more fully into view, revealing the short ruffled red and black mini she was wearing, coupled with the knee-high black buckle boots and the skull and crossbones top. She knelt by the recliner, taking Tim's hand in her own. It looked as if she'd just woken up.

"There is another man that should be here," Cas stated. "Where is Donald Mallard?"

Ziva holstered her weapon, moving silently upstairs and leaving the rest of them gazing at one another uneasily. Cas seemed more than content to simply focus at a spot on the wall, ignoring the rest gathered in the small room. The brothers, however, had moved closer together and were exchanging a whispered conversation, which seemed to have drawn the interest of McGee and Abby.

"I told you, Sammy, this was a bad idea."

"Yeah, well, we didn't have a choice, Dean. If they'd found these murders on their own, they'd most likely be massacred before we'd get here to save them."

"They're gonna run background and find out we're supposed to be dead. How are we supposed to explain that?"

"I dunno, Dean. Maybe tell them the truth?"

"Oh, yeah, that'll go down _real _well."

"Well, we're here now. If things go south, maybe Cas can beam us out of here or something."

Their conversation was halted by the creak at the top of the stairs, Ziva descending with an older man behind her. With glasses fixed somewhat lopsidedly to his face, he studied the scene in front of him wordlessly, as if assessing the three new men in the room.

"You are all assembled then," Castiel finally spoke, breaking the silence he'd been in. "I have no need of explaining myself twice." He turned to face the doctor, nodding once in acknowledgment. "I am Castiel, and I am an angel. There is something...much larger than your team happening right in front of you. Warriors, your military, are being sacrificed. For what, I am unsure." He raised a hand to silence the question he saw forming on DiNozzo's lips. "To help you and to guide you, I have brought you two men." He gestured at the couch. "Sam and Dean Winchester, hunters. They have saved your kind more times than I care to count."

"There have been no reports of missing or killed military personnel, _Castiel,_" Gibbs interjected.

"That is simply because they have not yet been found." He paused. "We can feel the loss of life in Heaven, but we are unable to locate the souls. They are not going to Heaven...or _Hell._"

"How do we know you're not involved?" Gibbs countered. "Better yet, you're all powerful. Why don't you heal my agent?"

Cas fidgeted, shifting slightly on his feet as a look of guilt passed over his face. "There is...an uprising in Heaven, something my forces are trying to counter. A rebellion. Mutiny. The leaders are trying to find me. Healing would only bring destruction to you all. They would find me, and they would destroy you without a second thought." He turned to McGee. "Do not lose faith. You _are _needed, Timothy McGee. When the time comes, you must not hesitate."

"There's a _what?_" Gibbs demanded heatedly.

"Sam and Dean can explain in more detail once I am gone. I do, however, have something I can give you. A protection." He paced toward a skeptical Tony and an equally skeptical Ziva, his gaze traveling between the two. "Will you allow me?"

After a moment, Tony nodded, feeling he had nothing to lose. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ziva do the same. Castiel reached forward, his hands hovering at their chests. A sudden sharp, burning pain flooded through their bodies, causing them to cry out at the unexpected sensation. Their cries sent Gibbs rushing forward, grabbing for the angel. He pinned Castiel against the wall, fist raised, ready to pummel into his face.

"The hell are you doin'?" he snarled.

"It's an Enochian Sigil," Dean answered instead. "Carved into the ribs."

"It protects you from being located by...demons or angels," Sam continued. "Dean and I both have one...our brother did too. The pain goes away after a minute."

Tony and Ziva, both winded, stood, nodding to their boss who reluctantly let the angel go. Castiel made his way around the room, engraving each member of the team until he stood beside the brothers. It was a long moment before anyone was collected enough to speak, absently clutching their throbbing midsections.

"Should you have need of me, just call. Trust Sam and Dean." Casting his shadow to reveal his wings and erase the last of the doubt from the minds of those gathered, he disappeared with a clap of thunder, leaving them staring between one another, trying to figure out what had just happened.

**000086753090000**

Breathing a bit easier as the guns had been put away, Sam and Dean had settled in among the agents, fielding the questions that was thrown their way regarding who they were and where they'd came from. Taking his brother's advice, Dean had agreed to be honest and was surprised to see it actually work. Maybe it was Castiel's disappearing act that had shocked the agents into believing pretty much anything they had to tell them, or maybe it was just that they were relieved to be hearing the truth rather than the bullshit that Dean usually tried to feed those they ended up working with. There were no fake badges this time and no risk of blowing their cover. Their cover had been provided for them.

"So why is it that we have to protect you?" DiNozzo asked, taking a long swig of his beer. "I mean, you guys apparently stopped the Apocalypse and killed the mother of all evil, or whatever. Doesn't seem like you need much protection."

"When it comes down to it, we're just two guys," Sam argued. "Most of what we do, you'd lock us away for. It's not glamorous, by any means. Fake badges, fake Ids, digging up graves and burning bones...only when there are spirits involved, of course." He covered himself quickly. "Cas says this is big. Normally, we'd stay clear of D.C and the surrounding area. That's why we need you."

"I'm still having a hard time believing any of this stuff is real," Gibbs said darkly, still intently studying his new guests.

"You won't be the first cops we've had the pleasure of working with," Dean assured. "Had an agent a while back that was hot for our blood. He didn't believe either...until we were all locked up together in a backwoods police station in a backwoods town, surrounded by thirty or so demons. He got his first taste of what it was like to be possessed, changed his tune real quick."

"This agent have a name?"

"Victor Henricksen. Deceased."

"Henricksen," Gibbs mused, shaking his head. "Worked with him on a case...about ten years ago. Good agent." He drained the last of his beer, sitting the bottle heavily on the table. "How'd he die?"

"Demon. He was flayed alive."

An uncomfortable silence seemed to settle over the room as they all took in what Dean had said. It held a promise of a similar danger that they'd all be facing. After a long moment, Dean stood, nodding to his brother.

"That's enough shock for one night. We'll go find a motel," he said, adjusting his jacket around his shoulders.

Gibbs stood, shaking his head. "If we're supposed to be protecting you, you're stayin' right here until this is over. I don't wanna have to come hunting you. Bring your stuff in and let's get to work. If what your angel friend says is true, we need to find out what's happenin' _now._"

Left no room for argument, Dean made his way out to the Impala to lock up and retrieve their bags and weapons before heading back inside. At least this time, they had time to get their team up to speed and trained before being thrust into danger, a luxury that Henricksen and the other officers hadn't been given. He shook his head, for the first time since the witnesses reflecting on the disaster that had befallen the agent he'd actually came to respect in that tiny police station.

"Wherever you are, Henricksen," he murmured, "this one's for you."

**tbc...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: You all are wonderful :) It's a huge encouragement to receive such positive feedback. Thanks for the adds as well. I'm glad to see you all enjoying my work. And now...the next chapter...**

With Bobby on speakerphone, the agents had gathered with the brothers around the kitchen table, a map of the city spread in front of them. Bobby, with a similar map open before him on his desk, was using the scrying device and a similar ritual they had used to find Lilith in order to pin down where they should begin their search. With very little information to go on, they were left to the beginning of the investigation, being pointed in a direction by a man almost on the opposite side of the country. It was easy to see the skepticism that stayed front and foremost on the faces of the NCIS team.

McGee, though he seemed to be weakening quickly, refused Abby's repeated requests to rest, determined to stay at the table with the rest of the team. He needed to know what his purpose was. Doubts clouded his mind, and his thoughts were dark. With him being this weak already, he was unsure of what good he would do the team at all. Even with the angel's assurance that he was needed, he wasn't sure that he was going to last long enough for anything to actually happen. The furtive glances that were thrown his way over the table showed just how concerned those gathered were, checking every few minutes or so to make sure he was still okay when he'd go silent. Dr. Mallard, or Ducky as it seemed the team called him, sat to his left, and Abby to his right, each keeping a sharp eye on him when they weren't adding their own feedback to the conversation.

Abby, it seemed, was the most open to concepts of the supernatural of those gathered, which surprised no one. She slept in a hand-made casket, one that she had tediously made herself. Religious and spiritual tattoos were hidden all over her body, known from her own admissions, leaving Dean sometimes staring at her, trying to picture what she was hiding under the scanty layers she had on. For some unexplainable reason, he found himself drawn to her, despite the fact that she wasn't even close to his type.

Dean started as he felt a sharp slap land against the back of his head, drawing him from his thoughts, and he glanced back, finding a slightly bemused Gibbs standing to his side, lowering his hand. Tony clapped him on the shoulder, laughing slightly.

"Welcome to the team," he joked.

"_What was that?" _Bobby asked eagerly. "_Hit him again. For me."_

"Oh, real cute, Bobby," Dean smirked, knowing how sometimes Bobby felt taken for granted, especially by the brothers. He knew Bobby had been waiting for an opportunity to do something exactly like what Gibbs had done for a long while. "How about you make with the Latin and leave the smackin' to somebody else."

Grumbling and occasional mumbles greeted his comment, and he knew Bobby was smiling despite the fuss he was making. His efforts, however, returned to the task at hand, reworking the spell to locate the bodies of the deceased military personnel around the area. It took long moments, but he finally began to read out the spell and a soft whirring could be heard as the scrying device came to life, circling around the map.

_"Huh."_

"What is it, Bobby?" Sam asked. "Get anything?"

_"More than I bargained for,"_ came the answer, followed by the sound of fingers scratching against stubble. The desk on the other end of the line creaked as Bobby leaned closer to the map. _"Your map have the city blocked off in letters and numbers?"_

"Yeah, Bobby."

_"Right then. I've got an area smack dab in the center of the city. Pointer ain't stuck on it; it just keeps circlin' it. Blocks D and E, numbers 4 and 5."_

"You know what's there?" Dean asked, looking up at the team leader.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered, "a few youth centers and an abuse shelter, mostly for women, battered spouses, that kinda thing."

"Sounds like a good place to start. Hey, thanks, Bobby." He stood as the line went dead, looking around the table. "Who's up for a little scouting?" He flashed a winning grin, holding his hands out, still feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"I'll go," Tony volunteered, drawing an approving nod from his boss.

"If we're not back by midnight, bring the cavalry, Sammy." Dean grabbed his jacket, gesturing for DiNozzo to follow them. Together, they walked out the front door.

Moments later, those inside heard the Impala fire to life, purring as she idled before pulling away from the curb. Sam smiled slightly, always having loved that sound. It startled him a bit when he came to realize that all eyes had now focused on him, having him alone in the house without his brother seemed to be the opportune time to pump him for information. The underlying theme was struggling for belief that the things the brothers hunted actually existed.

Sam pulled out his father's diary, briefly dashing over the family history before flipping through a few of the pages, introducing them to the lore around several of the more dangerous creatures and manifestations they'd faced. Each case was fresh in his mind as if it had only just happened, yet felt so foreign. It had been so long since they'd had a hunt without dealing with demons or the end of the world.

Finding he had a captive audience, he was more willing to talk about some of the darker times they'd faced, leading up to the Apocalypse. Those gathered seemed very interested about the angels, and just like anyone would have been, were surprised to learn how cold and ruthless angels were. He spoke of Raphael and Zachariah, of Uriel and Castiel, and the power struggle that was happening in Heaven, leaving out what they knew to be true of an absent Father.

Each memory he relived brought another with it and soon, he found himself lost as if drowning in a never-ending sea. He had stopped talking and now simply stared at the table, his mind being whisked along on the journey he had no wish to take. Michael and Lucifer circled his mind, hateful words and feelings swirling and ripping through him, jealousy and fear, love and misunderstanding. He felt his fists pummeling into his brother's face with bone-shattering force again and again, hearing and feeling the crunch beneath his fingers and the blood that coated his hands. He felt the embrace of the pit as he fell inside, taking Michael, and his brother Adam, with him.

Suddenly, he felt a small hand take his and he blinked, looking up into the smoky eyes of the Israeli agent Castiel had called Ziva. She had leaned close to him, an unnatural understanding covering her beautiful features. He found himself captivated, the flood of memories leading him dangerously close to the Wall halting as quickly as they'd started.

"It is difficult to keep so much bottled inside, is it not?" she questioned softly, so only he could hear. "I do not judge you, Sam Winchester. I _see_ you." She stepped back, meeting his eyes once more.

He sucked in a deep breath, not realizing he'd forgotten to breathe in that moment, lost in the unexpected peace she had brought him. It took a long moment, and Ziva retreating to her place across from him, before he was able to collect his thoughts enough to continue. With Dean gone, it would be his job to bring them up to speed on the possibilities of what they might be dealing with.

He cleared his throat. "So, sacrifices mean we're most likely dealing with humans. Sacrifices usually mean a ritual, so that leaves us to figure out what the ritual is for. Warriors are oddly specific. Nordic mythology is littered with references to Valhalla, the Warrior's Heaven." He flipped through several more journal pages, his lips pursed in thought.

"If we're dealing with humans, shouldn't this just be our case anyway?" Gibbs asked, pushing away from the table in favor of coffee, a rich, pungent brew filling the air as he filled the coffeemaker.

"It wouldn't be just humans if Cas needed us here," Sam pointed out. "Humans may be making the sacrifices, but they're not the ones behind them."

A general murmur of agreement passed around the table.

"Anyway, all we can do is...guess until Dean and Tony get back with something to run with, if they find anything at all."

"Tony's a trained investigator," McGee managed.

Sam offered him a half-smile, raising a brow. "Not with the kind of stuff we deal with, Tim."

A heavy silence settled through the kitchen, the prospect of the possibilities seemingly endless.

**000086753090000**

Dean and Tony peered out the windows, driving slowly around the block that Bobby had indicated. It was evening and the streetlights had just came on, giving them only a few remaining minutes of daylight to scope out the street.

"Is it usually this quiet?" Dean asked, glancing at the agent before turning his gaze back to the street, finding a place to park.

"No, not usually."

They stepped out of the car, Tony pacing appreciatively to the rear opposite of Dean as the latter opened the trunk, revealing the arsenal it held.

"I was gonna say 'sweet car,'" Tony began, his eyes traveling over the weapons in slight shock, "but this...is awesome."

Dean laughed, handing the agent a duffel. "Wasn't always this way, ya know." He pulled open a small container, leaning further into the trunk. "This car was bought...out of love. Meant to be a family car. Trunk wasn't always full of weapons. Later modification." He found what he was looking for, holding out a plastic ID for Tony and a plain leather necklace with a tarnished pendant.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Animal control badge." He grinned, popping the trunk shut. "And that necklace will keep ya from gettin' possessed."

Tony studied the pendant briefly before pulling the necklace over his head, tucking it beneath his shirt. He shouldered the duffel, turning to face Dean.

"Here, take this too." He dug around in another duffel, pulling out a wrinkled jacket. "Too damned clean cut for a city worker."

Tony grinned, sliding into the jacket, finding it a surprisingly comfortable fit. "Shoulda seen me when I was a cop with the Baltimore PD." He fell into step beside Dean as they made their way toward one of the youth centers.

"Yeah? Stylin' then too?" Dean chuckled.

"Nah, man," he replied, reflecting for a moment, "there were...tube socks."

"Dude!" An unusually amused laughed sounded from deep in his chest, catching a hitch in his stride before he composed himself. "You're alright, Tony."

They made their way around the fenced-in buildings, managing to make their way into the closest youth center just by flashing their plastic cards, announcing themselves as animal control. They were left free to search the building, searching each room thoroughly before turning to the few volunteers, Dean doing a quick sweep of each person, checking for signs, symbols, or unusual behaviors. Finding nothing, they left the building, trekking toward the next building over. Dean knocked on the outer door, stepping back as the door swung open, a small woman stepping down to meet them.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Dean flashed his card, offering her a smile. "We're with animal control, ma'am. Had some reports of some rabid animals in the area, particularly squirrels. Few of the buildings around here have reported hearing rustlings in the ceiling. We're doin' a sweep of the area and the local buildings. Just finished next door."

"Oh, my," she blinked slowly. "What do you need?"

"Mind if we have a look inside? Check for holes and the like? We'll be real quick. Just want to make sure ya'll stay safe."

She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ears, reaching up to turn the door handle to let them in. "Just make it quick. My girls get a little jumpy around men, if you know what I mean."

Dean's eye caught on her wrist, which she quickly pulled back as they filed past. He nodded to cover up the stare, instead, pushing Tony toward the back of the facility to start their search.

"Is it just me, or does this place feel extra creepy to you?" Tony asked quietly, trying doors. "And what is that smell?"

"Definitely not just you," Dean murmured. "This is the place. That's incense...and decay. Maybe a bit of sulphur. Hard to tell. That lady that let us in had some sort of symbol on her wrist." He stopped short, pointing down outside of a door, noting blood that had pooled just outside. He tried the handle, finding the door locked.

"I think...it's time to leave."

**tbc...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Your reviews have brightened my day. :) And now...a little exposition for you! Sorry it's so short. I hope to have something more for you by the end of the weekend. Enjoy!**

Dean jerked his head to the left, signaling that they should continue through the building, feeling eyes on his back. He wasn't sure if he should chalk it up to paranoia over their find or whether the feeling was legitimate, not wanting to draw attention to himself by checking. Instead, he made a show of studying the walls and ceiling, running his fingers along cracks to feel for weak points. Tony swept the floor, keeping watch for more tale-tell signs of blood, occasionally finding a neglected or smeared drop dried in inconspicuous places on the floor. Without knowing that something more sinister was afoot, a random drop of blood on the floor wouldn't be uncommon with the kind of clientele the shelter hosted. Women often showed up on the doorstep, bloody, bruised, and beaten.

Most of the doors in the building were locked, and it seemed the women had all been moved to the bigger room in the center of the building. Several had broken away from the pack and had pressed their faces against the glass, their eyes following the two men as they made their way down the hall. They tried to mask their prying, needing more evidence to put together an idea of what they were dealing with. Masking, however, was difficult, with their every move being monitored. It was too early in the game to give away their secret.

Before long, Dean had to agree with Tony about leaving. Every moment they lingered was a risk that they were going to blow their cover. Frustrated, he nodded to his partner and they began backtracking toward the door, careful to make sure their strides were casual. They had walked straight into a lair where men just as strong as them had been murdered, sacrificed for reasons they couldn't yet understand.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" the small woman asked, stepping from inside the door of the central room, her hands folded demurely in front of her.

"No, ma'am," Tony answered casually. "Doesn't seem like there's anything here. If you have any trouble at all, you just let us know."

She followed them to the door, letting them out into the chilly evening air, slamming the door securely behind them as soon as they were on the other side. They heard the lock turn in its socket. Exchanging heavy glances, they paced quickly away from the building, pausing a short distance away to examine the perimeter of the building. Several women seemed to be pacing about, locking the gates that surrounded the area. After dark, it seemed, the place was secured entirely. While it offered protection for those inside, it also offered the perfect opportunity to keep prying eyes from discovering what was happening behind closed doors.

"Well, that was thoroughly creepy. Hitchcock has nothin' on these guys," the agent mumbled under his breath, drawing a chuckle from Dean. "Ya know how...you search for proof that you need, then when you have it, you don't want it?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, motioning that they should continue their walk. "I know that feelin' all to well."

"Yeah, me too. Like now." Tony adjusted the duffel on his shoulder, noting the Impala just ahead and feeling a rush of relief flooding through him. "I needed proof that you guys were legit...and that McGoo wasn't going crazy. Now I have it." He grimaced. "Not sure that I want it."

"What has been seen...cannot be unseen," Dean offered, taking the duffel from Tony and tossing it in the backseat as they settled into the car. He turned the ignition, pulling out onto the road to take them home. "And just think, Tony...we're nowhere near done here."

"Gee," he quipped, "thanks."

**000086753090000**

Sam had paced out onto the deck that served as a sitting area behind Gibbs' house. It overlooked a small, well-maintained backyard. He leaned against the railing, his eyes scanning absently over the green grass, coming to rest on the remains of an old swing set that sat near the back fence. The swing and chains were gone, leaving only a rusty skeleton behind, and morning glory vine had grown over it, wrapping it in a mess of beautiful flowers. It was there that he lost himself in his thoughts again, this time sorting through his memories rather than letting them take control of him.

He and his brother had made it a point to try to avoid the events that had led to Death restoring his soul and building the wall to make him functional again. Each scratch at the wall, each intruding memory that shouldn't be there, sent him dangerously close to convulsions, which would most likely lead to something worse. He had no idea how he'd been brought back, his last full memory being that of retaking control of his body and sending himself into the pit, along with Lucifer, Michael, and his brother, Adam. Over a year had passed in the time he didn't remember, and intruding memories were becoming more and more frequent, showing up in brief flashes that confused and disoriented him. Try as he might, he couldn't stop the visions that kept clouding his mind. The wall wasn't fool-proof. Yellow Eyes had ensured that nothing in his mind would ever work the way it was supposed to. Dormant or not, the blood still flowed through his veins, still influenced the way that he lived. He hated it, and he hated himself for it.

Beyond lost, he hadn't even heard the door slide open behind him, but he felt someone join him, standing close to his side and drawing him back to the present. Ziva stood only a pace to his right, holding a beer out in her outstretched hand, a slight smile on her face. He smiled his thanks, taking her offering with a slightly shaking hand.

"Do you always brood like this?" she asked quietly, folding her arms in front of her as she, too, leaned against the railing.

"Yeah," he admitted, running his hand over his furrowed brow, "that's me...the brooding one. Dean's the smart ass."

She chuckled, glancing back over at him. "Are you always so open about your life with everyone you meet?"

He knew she was referring to their conversation at the table and he took a long swig of the malty beer, shaking his head. "Figured honesty was the best policy, at least this time. We don't exactly have the luxury of building trust. I needed you to know we meant business...that this _is_ what we do, what we've always done."

She nodded slowly, pursing her lips as she met his eyes. It was clear she was studying him, and oddly enough, he didn't mind. Usually under such scrutiny, he would have balked, finding an excuse to be somewhere else, doing anything at all. No one, no woman, had looked at him so intently since Jessica.

"I see so much pain in you, Sam," she finally offered, compassion flavoring her words. "Usually, I am not one to care. I was never taught to linger on feelings or emotions, especially those of others, but I cannot help but...I mean, I feel a kinship with you...You are damaged beyond repair, yet you still move on, putting one foot in front of the other...doing your job."

"We save people," he interjected softly, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. "Hell, we saved the entire world...two...maybe three times now. It's so hard to keep track."

"What do you mean, you have saved the entire world?" she asked. "How is that possible? You and your brother...you are just men, yes?"

He sighed, moving to sit down on the single step that led out into the yard, and she moved to sit down beside him. "Our father raised us to hunt monsters, and he died protecting us. Our mother was killed when I was still in the cradle, by a demon. We thought that when we found that demon, when we killed him, we could _finally_ have a normal life...we could finally be a family. I was engaged. He killed her, too, beautiful Jessica." He adjusted his grip on the beer bottle, staring into the slightly frothy brew as if it held the answers he sought. "He ended up opening the Devil's Gate, and we stopped him...killed him...but not before hundreds of demons poured through. Instead of retiring, we ended up spending the next year hunting down what had been let out." He skipped over the part about his father's deal with Azazel, and about Dean's deal with the crossroad's demon to save him after he'd been killed in Azazel's little contest. "After that, I spent...half a year hunting on my own while Dean was...away." He swallowed awkwardly, remembering Jo and Ellen dying, remembering the hell hound tearing away at his brother's flesh, leaving him a bloody, dead mess.

She rested her hand on top of his, feeling his distress, trying to digest what she was hearing. It was hard to grasp and understand, not having experienced any of what they had experienced before. She'd never had run-ins with anything supernatural, never had to challenge her beliefs before.

"Then there was the Apocalypse and dealing with the horsemen...trying to stop the breaking of the sixty-six seals...There's too much to tell," he looked over at her, his eyes swimming with tears he didn't even realize were there. "There's so much I can't tell you." He felt her squeeze his hand, surprised that she hadn't pulled away in disgust or mistrust. "You're the first person I've been able to talk to besides Dean...and Bobby. The first...normal person since Jessica, and even she didn't know what I'd be doing now. She couldn't know."

"Perhaps...when this ordeal is over, you can stay with us for a while and find some normalcy," she said after a long moment, unsure of why she felt so comfortable saying it. Even listening to him attempt to talk about his dark past hadn't spooked her, instead making her more interested in finding out exactly who Sam Winchester was.

A small smile lit his face as he considered what she'd said, a sense of ease settling over him. He could feel the stress pouring from him, the tension in his shoulders dissipating until he slouched forward comfortably, studying the young woman beside him. "Ya know," he took another long drink, licking the excess from his lips, "I think I might like that."

**tbc...**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Special thanks for the wonderful reviews, as always, and for the fresh adds. For those of you who have added me as a favorite author or added one of my stories to your favorite stories, I thank you as well. You all are the ones I write for. If someone has an idea for a fic they'd like me to try out, feel free to message. I'd be happy to see what I can do with it. I don't like to branch too far out of character for my stories, so I appreciate those of you who have commented on how genuine the characters seem for you. And now, I'll stop yammering. I hope you enjoy this chapter...**

Dean swung the Impala wide, retaking the parking spot at the curb again in front of Gibbs' house, cutting the ignition, locking up, and following Tony back inside. It seemed the team had spread out, Gibbs surprisingly reading over an aged Bible in the living room as Sam and Ziva seemed to be huddled at the kitchen table, reading over John's journal. It appeared that she was very interested in what was written on the pages, often pausing to ask Sam questions, curious if they'd encountered the beasts written about in a particular entry.

"Honey," Tony called out in a sing-song voice, closing the door behind them, "we're home." He trudged into the kitchen, making a kissy face at his partner. "Miss us?"

Sam stood, looking over his brother as Gibbs made his way in from the living room, waiting expectantly for the report.

"The abuse shelter, Outreach," the agent supplied, seeing the expression on his boss' face. "Lots of locked doors and creepy women and...blood. I think that chick was onto us."

"No doubt," Dean added, nodding as he looked down at the table, collecting his thoughts. "The woman who let us in had a marking on her wrist. I could only see the top of it, but it looked like a crescent. Probably a cultist mark, or the mark of whoever she works for. Lots of big bad's like to mark their workers."

"No different than the people we deal with," Gibbs commented.

"Right." The older brother ran his hand absently across the stubble that covered his cheeks, scratching as he thought. "The women were all herded into the central room and closed away from us...there was no chance of studyin' them. There _might_ have been a hint of sulphur, Sammy, but it was covered by the smell of decay and incense. Hard to say. When we left, people came out to lock the gates. Looked like a patrol."

"So you think this is the place?" Gibbs asked, crossing his arms.

"Pretty sure, boss," DiNozzo answered. "Need to figure out who, why, and where they're abducting soldiers from."

"Do you not think that we might need to go intercept the AWOL files from work? Surely they will be starting to arrive by now, and Vance could assign another team to the case, which would put other agents in harm's way," Ziva suggested, standing along with them.

Gibbs nodded, grabbing his jacket. "I'll be back later." He strode out the door, closing it behind him. A few moments later, the agents heard his truck fire to life, the tires squelching slightly as he backed onto the road.

Sam settled back into his seat at the table, waiting for the others to join them. The chairs scraped against the tile of the kitchen floor as they were pulled back, occasional creaks sounding as they scooted back toward the table.

"Okay, so we're definitely on the right track with the shelter. It's at least where the sacrifices are being performed. With the amount of blood pooling at the door, it's a pretty safe bet there was at least one body hidden there." Dean brought his father's journal closer to him, staring absently down at the pages as his mind continued to work. "What we need is a way to get inside."

"With the locked gates and those butch looking women walkin' around outside, that's gonna be a trick," DiNozzo added, crossing his arms and kicking back in his chair.

"It will not be that hard," Ziva retorted. "We are government agents, are we not? I am a woman, yes? I will go in undercover."

"Whoa," Sam stated firmly, sitting forward. He shook his head. "Ziva, this isn't something the agency is aware you all are doing. There's no insurance if something goes wrong." He leveled a firm, stern gaze at her.

"What?" she returned, equally firm. "It is okay for you and your brother to do so of your own free will, but it is not okay for others?" She shook her head. "People are dying, and this is the way to put an end to it. Dean and Tony were fortunate enough to get inside and return one time with no fight. Would it not be easier if it were a helpless woman seeking shelter, as the shelter is intended for? It would not raise as much suspicion."

"She's right, Sammy," Dean said before his brother could respond. "Remember when we argued about coming here? What you told me? These guys are trained professionals. Yeah, I know, bringin' other people into what we do is never a good idea, but at least it's people who can cover their own asses."

Unable to form a valid argument, Sam simply lapsed into silence, staring down at the table. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth together, his mind seeming to spin as the others continued their conversation without him. The agents were trained in undercover work. Ziva had volunteered herself to try to get on the inside to discover what was going on in the shelter. It was likely that those behind the sacrifices were recruiting the weak-willed or battered women to fill ranks. Dean couldn't suppress his shudder as he remembered the cold, empty eyes staring at him as he'd made his way through the building.

Of the two women in the know, Ziva was the most qualified to carry out the undercover mission, and was the most likely to make it out alive. Her training had prepared her for horrible circumstances, training she would need should her true motive be discovered once she was inside.

They spent the better part of the hour working on detailing the layout of the shelter, Dean and Tony recalling what they could from memory, and working on a rough sketch to give Ziva an idea of the inside. After she was comfortable with the building, they began working on her identity, needing a convincing story to spin to the demure little woman who had let the men inside, the woman who had, by all appearances, been the ring leader of the operation.

"Undercover or not, Zee, you can't hide that you're Israeli. You don't even use contractions," Tony pointed out, tossing a paper wad across the table at her. "And! You have some...interesting ways of turning a phrase sometimes."

"I do not have to hide the fact that I am Israeli, Tony." The corners of her mouth curled upward in an amused smile. "How often do men find love on the internet and bring their women from overseas? My English does not have to be perfect."

"Point." He sighed, propping his arms behind his head and gazing up at the ceiling. It was useless arguing with Ziva. "So, has Gibbs got any food here? I'm starving." He kicked back out of his chair and began rummaging through the cupboards, mumbling under his breath. He finally slammed the last cabinet drawer, looking back at the table. "It's official, he IV's coffee. It's the only thing he's got!" He retreated to the next room, searching for the jacket he'd discarded for his cell phone.

Ziva stood from the table, excusing herself quietly before she disappeared down the hall, leaving the brothers alone. Sam stood, indicating that Dean should follow him, and moved back outside to the deck. It was less confining and he could think easier, and it was less likely that their conversation would be overheard unintentionally.

Dean propped against the banister, waiting for Sam to speak as the younger brother appeared to be searching for what he wanted to say, his jaw working again as it did when he was upset about something.

"She'll have...no backup," he eventually stated, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he took a few paces to the edge of the deck. "We've always got each others' backs, Dean. Always."

"No, Sammy, not always." He made sure his words struck home before he continued. "When I was in Hell, Sammy, you went off and hunted on your own...and don't make me remind you about _Soulless_ Sam." He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "We're just now gettin' back to the way it should be, and it's been a long haul. I'm tired. Hell, I'm a bastard most of the time." He offered his brother a half-smile, but the look that accompanied it was sad and pained. "The things we've experienced...we can't dump that. That wall holdin' back all those memories in your head...that's gonna break or something is gonna set you off, and that's on me. That's on me, Sammy. 'Cause when you were walkin' around out here without your soul, you weren't my brother anymore. You were a freakin' animal. I had to stop you." He dropped his hand. "That was me...coverin' my back. That was me...lookin' to have my brother back. Pure _selfishness._ Cas told me it would probably kill you, but I did it anyway."

Sam took a step back, looking over his brother in silence. He'd known Dean's reasons for bringing his soul back, for dealing with Death. The soulless Sam might have faulted him for bringing the raw, tortured soul back to his body, but Sam himself didn't fault his brother. He would have done the same if the situation were reversed. From the brief flashes he'd had of his life during the year following his stint as Lucifer's vessel, he had seen what a primal animal he'd been. He knew how cruel he was capable of being. He'd even experienced the elation of taking a life, and that scared him. That wasn't who he was, at least as long as his soul remained intact. He had spent his whole life rebelling against the freakish nature of his very existence. Despite the pain that came with remembering, having his soul was the only way to continue that fight. It was the only way he could truly be good.

"I would've done the same thing, ya know." He cocked his jaw, shifting on the balls of his feet.

"Yeah, Sammy. I know."

They stood in silence for a long while, reflecting over the events that had brought them to where they were now. Sam, despite his draw to Agent Ziva David, found he couldn't deny that his brother was right. Their best bet for finding out what was going on at the shelter was to send someone in, and the someone for that job was Ziva. She would be alone with the men unable to reach her on the inside without force, and by the time they got to her should she find herself in trouble, it could be too late.

"I know, Sam. Neither of us want to put anyone but ourselves in danger." Dean shook his head. "But let's face it, neither of us would make a good-lookin' woman."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that resulted from such an absurd comment from his brother. It was true, neither of them would be able to get a closer look inside without breaking directly into the lair and putting all of them in more danger. Without the brothers to lead them, the NCIS team would be operating without a source of knowledge when it came to dealing with the supernatural. It would be deadly and the mission would most likely fail.

"Alright," he consented, composing himself. "We'll try it this way, but we're gonna have to figure out a way to monitor her while she's in there."

"These guys are feds, dude," Dean snorted, "they've got devices for everything. They're not gonna send in their agent without all the bugs and cameras they can fit on her, wherever they can fit them."

Somewhat satisfied with that answer, Sam silenced his objections, settling against the banister beside his brother. The next questions at hand were who was behind the sacrifices and why. They didn't have enough evidence to research lore, leaving them waiting for whatever they could find out on the inside. The wait was just beginning and it already felt like they were running out of time.

**tbc...**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm glad you're all enjoying. :) Here's the next chapter...**

"This all of them?" Dean asked, leafing through the files that Agent Gibbs had laid on the table.

"So far," came the answer as the senior agent took his seat. He clasped his hands in front of him, staring intently at the young hunter. "Twenty-two AWOL soldiers so far. All branches of the military, all with impeccable records. All of them have at least one medal for meritorious service."

"So, we are technically looking at warriors," Sam murmured to himself as he took one of the files from the top of the page, flipping it open and scanning through it.

"I managed to convince Director Vance to let us handle it for the time being," Gibbs continued. "Wasn't easy, but we've got the go-ahead."

"Where do you suggest beginning?" Ziva asked, looking between the brothers. "We already know where the sacrifices are taking place..."

Ziva fell silent and they stood as they heard Abby protesting down the hallway, apparently arguing with Ducky, stating firmly that she didn't care and she wanted to stay. The door closed heavily anyway, only slightly less violent than a slam. Gibbs stepped around the corner as she stalked down the hallway.

"What is it, Abs?" he asked softly, his brow furrowed in worry.

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in unshed tears, anger coloring her cheeks red. "Timmy's dying, that's what it is, Gibbs. He's not gonna make it the three weeks. He's not! Ducky just..._kicked me out_ so he could get...so he could stabilize him." A large tear escaped the corner of her eye, making its slow path down her cheek. "How did he get so bad so fast, Gibbs? Why is Timmy dying?"

He pulled her into a comforting embrace, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I don't know, Abby," he stated simply, continuing to hold her.

Those gathered in the kitchen could only watch in silence. Tony and Ziva exchanged grieved glances, worried for their partner. Sam and Dean exchanged their own significant glance. Castiel had told McGee that he was needed. Surely the angel knew how bad off the agent already was.

"It's not fair, Gibbs." Abby sniffled against the older man's chest, returning his hug fiercely.

It was a long while before Ducky let himself out of the ground floor room, closing the door quietly behind him. Clearly exhausted, he trudged down the end of the hallway, stopping short of the now quiet Abby held fast in Gibbs' arms. He sighed helplessly, looking his long-time friend square in the eyes.

"How is he, Duck?" Gibbs asked softly, feeling Abby shift in his arms so she could face the doctor.

"I'm afraid young Timothy is progressing much more quickly than we'd feared." He leaned against the wall, dabbing at his sweat-covered brow with his handkerchief. "I am sorry, Abigail, for asking you to leave. You didn't need to see him that way."

She made her way over to the doctor, surprising him with a hug. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Ducky."

He patted her back, smiling sadly. "I understand, Abby. It's quite alright."

She stepped back, wringing her hands nervously. "Is he okay now?"

"I've sedated him and the seizures have stopped. He is resting." Ducky removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "I am baffled, really. Under no circumstance should the cancer be progressing this quickly."

"Is it leukemia?" Abby demanded. "Maybe it's something else!"

"No, my dear. It _is _leukemia. I saw the results myself." He shook his head. "You may sit with him now, Abby. I am...going to rest before he wakes again. Send for me should you need." He pulled away from the group, retreating upstairs slowly, the bedroom door closing behind him.

Abby turned, frightened, to the brothers who still stood silently in the kitchen. "Is there another explanation?" she asked breathlessly. "Could this be something...hinky?"

Dean looked over at his brother, considering her question. Castiel had said that McGee was needed, they were sure of it. Angels had been known to use illness as a leverage in getting what they wanted. He balked at the thought, hating to think that Castiel would intentionally bring illness to an innocent after all they had been through.

"Dunno," Dean managed gruffly, clearing his throat. "I mean, we'll do some checkin'...let you know what we find out."

She looked disappointed, but nodded before disappearing back down the hallway. Gibbs turned back to the kitchen, waiting for direction.

"It's late," Sam finally offered. "Should rest. We'll start again early."

The team leader turned his back to them, pulling open the basement door and closing it firmly behind him. The rest of the group could only watch him go.

"What's down there?" Dean questioned, closing the file on the table.

"His boat. And bourbon." Tony stretched. "It's where he goes to think."

"You know more about this than you let on," Ziva commented after a long moment of uncomfortable silence. "I saw your face when Abby asked you if it could be something hinky, Dean. You had a thought. What was it?"

He shifted a bit nervously under her scrutiny, not having felt anything like it since hunting with his father. He swallowed over the lump that had appeared in his throat. "I was thinking that angels are dicks."

"Angels have something to do with why McGee is sick?"

"I don't know." Dean sighed wearily. "All I know is that Sam and I have been at the receiving end of more angel dick-ery than anyone else."

"Used to make us sick to try to convince us," Sam admitted. "Took away my lungs once. Gave Dean stomach cancer."

Tony looked them over in horror. "What in the hell was so important?"

"Trust me, pal, you don't wanna know." Dean turned his back, heading back out to the deck to call Castiel.

The rest in the kitchen followed him, Tony pushing his way toward the front. "Yeah, actually, I do wanna know. If angels made McGee sick and we're workin' under the orders of an _angel_, I think we have every right to know."

Dean rounded on Tony as his feet hit the wooden deck, the abruptness of the action driving the agent's back against the wall. The look on his face sent a shiver up Tony's spine as Dean stared him down.

"Cas is the _only_ angel we have _any_ use for," he growled dangerously. "These random angels kept coming at us left and right, claiming we were the vessels of Michael and Lucifer...claiming that _we_," he pointed at Sam, "were gonna fight the long-awaited battle of the Apocalypse."

"Dean..." Sam said softly, taking a step forward in warning.

"No, Sam," he snapped, "you said to be honest." He turned a scathing gaze at his brother. "Let's do just that." He took a pace back, looking back to Tony. "We...respectively...said no. Repeatedly. We've been pushed back and forth through time, we've been given cancer for the pure amusement of these junkless dicks. Ya know what? I killed the ring leader, Zacariah. That's right. Me. The vessel of Heaven. _I _killed an angel. Ya know what else? Because of that...stupid move by me, our innocent brother ended up playing Michael's meat suit. You know where he is now? You _know_ where Adam is now, Tony?"

"That's enough, Dean," Sam barked firmly, pulling Dean away from the wide-eyed agent. "This isn't on them."

"He wanted to know!"

"I said enough." He took hold of his brother's shoulders, steadying him, waiting for him to calm down. "We trust Cas, that should be enough, Dean. Call him. Ask him."

Reluctantly, Dean nodded, that having been his intention all along. He didn't know why Tony's insistence had set him off, but it suddenly felt as if all the pressure that he and Sam had been under had peaked. He was tired, more than tired. He was ready to throw in the towel. It appeared there would always be something threatening the end of the world. There would always be one more job to keep them from finding peace.

He tossed an apologetic look over his shoulder as he turned away, composing himself to talk to Cas. "Castiel," he murmured, only loud enough for the others outside with him to hear, "it's important. Come on down and join us."

Silence fell over them for a long moment and they thought that the angel wasn't going to appear, but the sudden fluttering of wings sounded to their left, drawing their attention. Castiel stepped out of the shadow of the awning, facing the group.

Dean sighed heavily, feeling suddenly weak. "We need to talk, Cas."

**tbc...**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: The postings may take a little longer than the day or two apart you're used to, so I thank you in advance for your patience and your continued reading. I've currently gone back to working on my novels as well, and also have two fics in the works. As always, thank you all for reviewing!**

"Please tell me that the angels have nothing to do with this cancer thing," Dean said quietly, studying Castiel's face. "I thought we'd got past all that 'special influence' crap."

The angel sighed, looking away briefly toward the house. "It was not...given to him by us, Dean, but we are using it."

"Using it?" he repeated dangerously, taking a step closer to the angel.

"McGee is a vessel. A particularly powerful vessel. Much like you were with Michael."

Dean put up a hand to stop him, the look on his face particularly volatile. "Wait a second." He paused, his eyes narrowed. "One of your angel buddies is just gonna...swoop down and take a body off the death bed? You know who does that, Cas? Huh? Dicks!"

"The warrior cannot take his vessel until we discover who is making the sacrifices...and why."

"Cas..."

"It will be his choice, Dean."

"What kind of choice is that?" he demanded angrily.

"It cannot be avoided. I am sorry." The angel took a step back, turning away from Dean and disappearing before another word could be spoken.

The older Winchester stood in the middle of the back yard, staring at where Castiel had just been. Even with all they'd been through, Cas was still an angel. He was still prone to making the same judgments and the same demands as those who Sam and Dean had continually rebelled against. Absently, he paced back to the deck, avoiding the questioning gazes of the three who stood, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"The angels," he murmured, "they're not responsible." He looked up, passing his brother a glance that clearly said they'd talk later.

Sam nodded, crossing his arms. It was plain to see that Castiel had said something that made his brother uncomfortable, and that something was best kept out of the loop concerning the agents.

"The sooner we figure out what's going on, the better it's gonna be for your friend," Dean continued.

"Then I will go in tomorrow," Ziva offered. "I will just need a bit of help...making it look real. Any volunteers?"

"I'll go...get Abby. We'll need...tech help here," Tony said quickly, ducking back inside the house.

Ziva smirked, gesturing for the brothers to follow her. She led them down to the basement, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. "Gibbs?"

The mason jar clinked slightly as the older man sat his bourbon down on the woodworking bench. The stool creaked as he pushed himself to stand, facing the three who'd joined him. "Yeah, Ziver?"

"We have a plan," she stated simply, "and we must start now."

**000086753090000**

With the surveillance glasses securely in place and the bug hidden under her hair, Ziva stepped out of Gibbs' truck. The side of her face was swollen and bruised, her lip cut and only just scabbed over. She hoisted a small pack from the floorboard, casting a small smile at her boss.

"You be careful in there, Ziver. We're only a call away," he stated quietly.

She nodded, exhaling nervously and settling fully into her character as she shut the door heavily behind her. Limping slightly, she turned and made her way toward the shelter, hearing the truck pull away behind her. The limp was her own fault, having fallen over one of Gibbs' sawhorses as Dean had helped her with her bruises. Thankfully, it would not detract from her ability to defend herself should the need arise.

She was met at the door of the shelter by the woman she pegged as the one who had greeted Dean and Tony. The woman was small in stature, no taller than five feet, with shoulder-length tousled blonde hair. She wore a pink track suit, a horrible shade of light pink that made her seem pale and sick next to her ruddy skin.

"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, reaching out to pull her inside.

Cautiously, Ziva stepped through the door, allowing herself to be led to an office. She seated herself in front of the desk, holding her bag firmly in her lap, a look of shock appropriately on her face. Her chin quivered slightly as if in fear.

"There's no need to be afraid now, dear," the woman spoke softly. "My name is Sharon."

"Ariana," Ziva answered breathlessly, adjusting her grip on the bag.

"Ariana," Sharon repeated, smiling slightly, "you're safe now. Can you talk about what happened?"

Ziva grasped for straws, attempting to pull together a helpless demeanor that felt completely foreign to her. The conflicting emotions that played across her face, however, seemed to draw an appropriate reaction from the woman across from her. "My husband. Everything...everything seemed so wonderful at first, when I first arrived, but he has such a temper."

"Where is he now?" Sharon asked quietly.

"At work." She sniffled. "At the base. My father...he is coming for me. I just need a safe place to stay until he arrives."

"Of course." She offered her a tissue. "You are safe here." Sharon moved to a filing cabinet, pulling out a blank file. "Of course, this is a business. We'll need to get you checked in and squared away."

The better part of the next half hour was spent sharing her assumed past with the woman in front of her, watching as she filled out the paperwork, the pen speeding over the paper. The sheets were all tucked securely into the file and placed in another filing cabinet before she gestured for Ziva to follow her, leading her out into the hallway.

"We run a very unique program here, Ariana," she said, striding out into the main room. "You can stay for as long as you like. We're completely secure." She held open a door, letting it swing closed behind them, leading them deeper into the building.

"What is that smell?" Ziva asked, catching the scent that Dean had described at the table the night before.

"Just some bad meat, I'm afraid. One of our refrigerators went down a few days ago and we just can't get that smell out." She held open another door. "You'll be sleeping here. Go ahead and put your bag away on that empty bed. I'll send someone down with linens later."

The room housed four cots, three of which were in use. She made her way to the empty one, completely sweeping the room before she laid her bag down at the foot of the cot, returning to Sharon's side.

"We've got about ten ladies here now. They're all in with the afternoon counselor." She took long strides down the next hallway, peeking her head around the door. "Leslie, I have another lovely lady here for you." She pulled Ziva around the corner. "This is Ariana. Ariana, this is Leslie, our counselor. She'll help you get settled in."

With that, Ziva found herself alone, eleven faces gazing up at her as she stood in the doorway. She shifted on the balls of her feet, clutching her hands in front of her.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Leslie suggested, fixing a smile to her face. Her intense blue eyes seemed to pierce Ziva through to her soul. "And we'll get started."

**tbc...**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks so much for the positive feedback. :) You guys are great.**

Sam and Tony sat, huddled around the laptop that was broadcasting Ziva's feed to them from the shelter. Dean had gone to lay down and cool off at the request of his brother, and Abby had retreated back to McGee's room to sit with him as Ducky was still upstairs. Gibbs had returned to the basement, leaving orders that they were to keep a constant watch on his agent inside. It was plain to see he didn't like having her in there either.

"So," Tony ventured after long moments of silence had passed, "is your brother...always that...vocal?" He still seemed a bit gun shy after Dean had turned on him earlier, making him keep a wide berth from the older Winchester as much as he was able for fear of setting him off again. "You definitely seem to be the more collected one."

"Believe me," Sam snorted, "I'm not." He crossed his arms over the table, his eyes scanning the screen in front of him, searching for anything out of the ordinary. "We've been through a lot. I guess...I guess Dean just didn't feel like he had to justify anything to you...to anybody, for that matter. We've been yanked around so much by so many different things...it just takes its toll on you, ya know?"

"Yeah," he replied distractedly, seeming to digest what the younger brother had said. He had found a common bond with Dean, like he was almost the brother he'd never had. A frown crossed his face as he recalled the rage that had distorted Dean's features as he'd confronted him on the deck.

"Don't take it personally, Tony," Sam assured him, glancing briefly away from the screen. "Dean isn't mad at you or anything. He just needs some time to cool off."

Tony was quiet for a long moment, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. That burden had been taken from his mind, but replaced by another. He'd been so caught up in Dean's anger and tirade that he'd looked over what was front and foremost. "So the angels didn't make McGoo sick."

"They're not responsible. Means it was already there." Sam sighed. "Cas can't cure him because he's on the run."

"And Dean really killed an angel?"

"Yeah." Sam could recall the day clearly, being locked in the preparation room, Michael's light beginning to shine brightly overhead as he descended to take his vessel. "Arch angel blade, from chin to brain." Zacariah had been a manipulative, cruel bastard.

"Wow." He was still trying to wrap his head around how beings that were supposed to be pure good were being depicted as twisted and cold.

"Here we go." Sam leaned forward, watching the screen more closely as Ziva followed the woman they now knew as Sharon down the hallway. The face of the blonde swam into view as Ziva stepped into another room. The woman was introducing the blonde as Leslie.

Tony let out a whistle, his eyes traveling over the image on the screen. Leslie was nothing like what Sharon had been. She was gorgeous. Her blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail, leaving it to curl down her back lazily. Her electric blue eyes were framed by the longest black lashes he'd ever seen, giving her a very seductive gaze as she looked directly up into Ziva's eyes, letting her face be captured completely by the camera.

Sam, however, seemed preoccupied, studying the woman, but in a completely different way than Tony. His eyes scanned over her exposed skin, attempting to pick up any small sign or symbol that might have been emblazoned there, anything like what his brother had described on Sharon's wrist.

"What a woman," Tony murmured wistfully. "Look at that body."

"Look at that...necklace," Sam answered instead, finding the leather strap disappearing into her blouse. He pointed at the pendant, which from what he could see, appeared to be wooden. "What does that look like to you?"

"Dunno. Is it a clue?" he asked, his eyes drawn back to her cleavage, where the pendant of the necklace laid.

"It looks like a horn." He tried to enhance the image, much to Tony's delight, trying to bring up a larger view of the pendant. "It is a horn. That could be the crescent shape Tony saw on Sharon's wrist." He returned the view to normal as Ziva settled in to her seat.

"What's so special about a horn?" He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the screen, casting a curious gaze over at Sam.

The younger Winchester had pulled his own laptop from his bag, setting it up on the table beside the surveillance computer. "It's gonna tell us who they are." His father's journal found a place to the right of the computer, in easy reach for studying as he fired the laptop to life, pulling up a web browser.

"On the internet? Really?" he asked.

"Sometimes." He pulled his phone from his pocket, pulling up his contact list. "Bobby handles most of the bookwork." He set the phone on speaker as the call dialed through.

_"Yeah?_" Bobby answered gruffly, the sound of a large book hitting the desk echoing through a phone.

"Hey, Bobby, it's Sam. Got a lead."

_"What've ya got?"_

**000086753090000**

"Welcome to Outreach, Ariana," Leslie said quietly, still studying Ziva closely. "Will you be staying with us for a while?"

"Just...just until my father gets here," Ziva murmured, hugging herself tightly.

Leslie offered her a small smile, relaxing back slightly in her chair. "I know you've been through a difficult time, but you're among friends now. These women, they've all been where you are at some point in their lives, but this program has helped them."

Ziva looked around the room, noticing how quiet the women seemed, their eyes now refocused back on the woman at the front of the room. Whatever was happening, it seemed that this woman, this Leslie, seemed to be a leader.

"You can stay with us, if you wish, and learn how to retake control of your life." She smiled, sitting forward, her hands clasped at her knees. "No man will ever raise their hand to you again."

"I have a chance to go home," Ziva whispered, listening to what Leslie was offering her.

"You have a chance to run away!" the blonde-haired woman scolded. "Stay here, with us. Let _us_ show you how to regain your pride...your honor...your dignity."

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously, her eyes narrowed, hoping that her team was getting everything that was being said. A chill coursed through her body.

"Outreach is a _very_ special program." She stood, pacing over to the woman closest to her. "We teach you how to take back your life, how to defend yourself, how to find the strength your partner took away from you. We have a good team here, and these woman," she gestured down at the woman she stood beside, "will help you get back on your feet. They'll show you that life here is so much better. What do you hope to gain by running away from your problems?"

"I d-do not know," she stammered awkwardly.

"There is _nothing_ to be gained by running home to daddy." Leslie moved over to her, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand. She looked up into Ziva's eyes with the same intensity as she had before. "I sense a great strength in you, Ariana. You are a fighter."

"I am no one." Ziva tried to sit back to put distance between the two of them. She seemed to feel herself weakening, her eyelids heavy. The sensation confused her.

"Nonsense, Ariana. You are a warrior. You are one of us." Leslie squeezed her hand. "Stay."

"Stay," she repeated thickly.

"That's right," Leslie coached. "Stay here. With us."

"I will...I will stay."

**000086753090000**

"Whoa!" Tony exclaimed, drawing Sam away from his conversation with Bobby.

"What is it?" Sam asked, shifting in his chair.

Tony sat forward, pressing a few buttons on the laptop to bring up a separate screen. He rewound the footage he'd just watched, playing it forward for Sam.

Sam's heart clutched as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. They'd sent Ziva undercover into a situation they had no idea about. He watched Leslie convince Ziva to stay at Outreach. He heard the give in Ziva's usually self assured voice. She was gone.

"What the hell just happened?" Tony demanded, fear for his partner evident in his voice.

"She's...she's crossed." Sam sat back heavily, feeling his heart pound heavily in his chest. "She's been hypnotized."

_"Sam?"_ Bobby asked.

The Winchester was too lost in his thoughts to answer. His mind racing as he tried to pull apart and understand what had just happened.

_"Dammit, Sam, answer me. What the hell is goin' on over there?"_

"We just...lost our undercover agent," Tony managed to answer, looking back and forth between the screen and Sam. "We just lost my partner.

**tbc...**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks, as always, for the wonderful reviews. I made a promise that I'd make this posting a little quicker, so SPN Mum, I'm sorry it took an extra day to punch something out. This one was harder than I thought it would be. :( I hope you all enjoy!**

McGee groaned, turning onto his side and finding his head in Abby's lap. She had slid into bed beside him and had dozed off sitting up, her head drooping forward slightly as she breathed lightly through her nose. He smiled a bit, even though he was in pain. He couldn't help but appreciate that Abby had hardly left his side, and that she was determined to stay with him until he met whatever end was waiting for him. By the way things felt, he knew it wouldn't be long.

Carefully, he shifted, not wanting to wake her up, pushing himself to sit up on the edge of the bed. The effort winded him, leaving him gasping as quietly as he could manage for air. His fists clutched the bed covers and he shuddered, bowing his head forward as he tried to compose himself.

Mentally, he kicked himself, more than upset that he had ignored the fatigue and weakness that had plagued him for the past few months, chalking it up to the diet he'd been on. He'd let the bruises slide as bumps and scrapes he'd picked up on field assignments. The illness had been given an open door to walk right in and set up shop, quickly ravaging his body.

He wasn't ready to die, but he could already see the end looming in front of him. The harder he fought, the faster it seemed to come at him, and he was frightened. His only source of solace was his family, his team, and the fact that Abby had chosen to be at his side every waking moment. The fact that an angel had told him he was needed didn't seem to matter. He'd already weakened to the point that he couldn't walk by himself since he'd spoken to Castiel in the hospital.

It took him a long while to regain his breath, giving him a chance to think about what had woken him in the first place. He'd been distracted when he woke by the effort of sitting up, but recovering had given him time to think about why he was up. Something was wrong and he could feel it. The nagging feeling had woken him from a deep sleep.

"McGee?" Abby murmured sleepily, her hand searching the bed beside her.

"I'm here, Abs," he answered quietly, feeling her scoot up behind him on the bed, her arms snaking around his torso to hold him securely to her.

"Why are you up?" she asked, her voice muffled as she pressed against his back.

"Something's wrong out there, Abby." He sighed in frustration, placing a slightly shaking hand over hers. "I need to be with the team. What's going on?"

"They've got everything under control, Timmy." She adjusted her hold on him, nuzzling against his neck. "You just need to focus on getting better."

"I can't!" He frowned. "Damn it, I can't sit in here knowing that the team is working without me."

She carefully untangled herself from the cover, unwrapping her arms from his torso so she could move to sit beside him, looking over at him in resignation. "I can go check, Timmy, but you're gonna wait here 'til I get back."

He nodded, knowing he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. He wasn't moving without help, and that wasn't by choice. She pushed herself to her feet, making her way to the door and closing it securely behind her. She made her way to the kitchen, hearing the raised voices coming from inside. From the sound of things, McGee had been right. Something was terribly wrong. She stepped around the corner, standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching the mayhem in front of her.

She knew they'd sent Ziva in undercover to the shelter where everything was supposedly happening, and she knew that the footage on the computer they were pouring over was what was happening where Ziva was. What she couldn't understand is why everyone appeared to be so upset. The footage was streaming without a hitch; everything appeared to be going as planned.

"How do we snap her out of it, Sam?" Tony demanded.

"I don't know!" the younger Winchester exclaimed irritably, his fingers pounding away at his own keyboard. "You got anything yet, Bobby?"

"_Nothin' concrete. Plenty to look up about huntin' horns."_ The sound of pages flipping coursed through the phone.

"We need to pull her out of there _now," _Gibbs stressed, his hands gripping the back of Tony's chair as he leaned over the senior field agent's shoulder, taking in what was happening on the screen.

"What's going on?" she asked in a small voice, her eyes widened slightly. "What's wrong with Ziva?"

Gibbs stepped back, pacing over toward her. "McGee okay?" he asked instead of answering her question.

"Yeah, for now." She looked up into Gibbs' intense blue eyes, worry flaring to life at the deflection of her question. "He said he could feel something was wrong and sent me out to check. What's going on, Gibbs?"

"Somethin' hinky, Abs," he sighed, running his fingers through his short, silver hair.

"Hinky? Really?" She glanced over his shoulder, trying to discern for herself what was going on.

"There's a woman on the inside there that Ziva was sent to see. She's a counselor. Had her hypnotized in ten seconds flat."

"Is her cover blown?" Abby's eyes widened as they snapped back to the man in front of her, worry written plainly on her face.

"Don't think so. Doesn't look like she remembers anything." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Has answered everything like she's Ariana."

"Then how do you know...?"

"I've been on enough ops with her to know when she's faking and when she's not," Tony answered distractedly, a statement which would have been sarcastic in any other circumstance.

"Timmy will want to join you guys," she whispered, worrying her bottom lip.

Gibbs nodded, stepping past her and moving down to the occupied room. He let himself in quietly, moving over to his sick agent and offering him a hand up.

"Was I right?" McGee queried, letting his boss slip an arm around his waist to hold him up.

"You were right, McGee."

They made their way slowly back to the base of operations, Gibbs pulling a chair over next to Tony's so McGee would have a clear view of everything that was happening. The young agent watched the replay of the footage in interest, his eyes flicking quickly over the stills that Abby had managed to pull while Gibbs was helping him down the hall.

"I've seen that before," McGee mumbled, more to himself, as he studied the image of the pendant they all seemed so interested in.

"What?" Sam asked, looking over at him.

"In a dream, a few weeks ago." He narrowed his eyes, looking at it closer. "I was taking a break from working on the Deep Six books...had a dream about a woman wearing a necklace exactly like this." He gestured toward Sam's computer, pulling up a fresh browser and typing as he spoke. "Gave me an idea for a new book, so I did some research..." He gave the computer back to the younger brother, settling back in his chair as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

"Valkyrie?" Sam breathed.

A silence seemed to settle over the room as the brothers looked toward one another, confused. Another look was shared between the NCIS team, and they simultaneously shifted to look at the Winchesters, disbelief on their face.

"Wait a minute," Tony said firmly, holding up a finger as his brow furrowed deeply in an attempt to comprehend what had been said, "these women...valkyries...are things of myth. Nordic mythology."

Dean hung his head, bracing himself with his hands on the back of Sam's chair. "If there's one thing we've learned with our past, mythology doesn't always stay mythology." He looked up at Tony, a great sadness clouding his green eyes. "_If_ these women are valkyries, I don't like what this is all pointing to."

Sam made a small noise of agreement, his eyes traveling back to the monitor as many unpleasant thoughts filled his mind.

"What exactly is it all pointing to?" Gibbs demanded.

The younger Winchester looked up, shaking his head. The team wasn't going to like the possibility.

**tbc...**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting. I have been running short of time and inspiration lately. Hopefully, this is a satisfactory chapter for you all. Thanks for all the positive reviews for the last chapter! :)**

"What do you mean?" Gibbs blasted, the look on his face volatile. "You can't tell us or you won't?"

"Both," Dean grunted, lifting Sam's phone from beside the monitor. "We need a few...private minutes to hash this out. Wanna make sure what we're tellin' you is right before we go makin' assumptions." He jerked his head toward the back door, their escape from the tension that had filled the kitchen. Quickly, he fell in behind his brother as they tromped down the hallway, looking back briefly over his shoulder. "Just...keep an eye on Ziva. We'll be back soon." He faced forward again, exhaling shakily as Sam pushed open the back door, closing it securely and putting his back to it as they stepped through.

"_What the hell is goin' on there, boys?" _Bobby demanded through the phone which crackled slightly with the volume of his voice.

"Valkyries," Sam repeated, scratching the back of his head. "They've upped the ante...killing off military personnel by sacrifice."

_"But didn't Lucifer _kill_ a bunch of the gods at that...hotel they lead you to?"_ came the question over the phone as the sound of quickly flipping pages filled the air.

"Yeah, Odin included. All that were there but Kali." Dean rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. That had been the night Gabriel, their best hope for ending the Apocalypse without sacrificing themselves, had been killed.

"_Then why would the Valkyries be so hot for blood? It's not blood they need...it's souls."_

"I think it's time to call Cas," Sam offered, directing his gaze toward his brother.

A second passed before the sound of fluttering wings sounded behind them and Castiel stepped out of the shadows, joining them on the small deck. "I was near," he offered by way of explanation to his sudden arrival. "You made progress much faster than I anticipated."

"Yeah, well, this team doesn't drag their feet...especially when one of their own is in danger," Sam retorted, his mind falling first on Ziva, then McGee. The latter had been the reason Ziva had been so anxious to begin the mission, and now her life was in danger because of it.

"What have you discovered?"

"Valkyries," Dean answered, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded the angel beside him. "Valkyries are making the sacrifices."

An uncomfortable look passed over Castiel's face, not unnoticed by the brothers.

"What do you know?" Dean pressed, turning fully to face the dark-haired angel.

Castiel sighed. "There have been whispers, rumors passing through Heaven since I learned of the sacrifices. The number of warriors dying _world-wide_ has increased exponentially in the past two weeks. This seems to be the center...where the most activity is taking place."

"Odin's gone, Cas. We practically watched him die." Dean narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought.

"That's exactly the conclusion I have reached," Castiel affirmed. "The Valkyries are attempting to resurrect Odin. The souls _and_ the blood of the warriors are needed...I am just not certain how much it will take. It seems there has been no decline in the number of warriors taken...I can only assume they are not yet finished."

Sam rested hard back against the door, gazing up at the sky, his thoughts returning to Ziva. They had let her walk in to a hive of women who were trained for nothing but battle without knowing what they were getting into. Getting her out now looked to be a slim chance.

"Cas," Dean cleared his throat, glancing over at his brother, "we sent an agent in."

The angel paused for a moment, his eyes seeming to unfocus. "Ziva." It was a statement, not a question. He could sense her presence was missing from the house. "That was the right decision, Dean. She is highly capable of doing what needs to be done."

"She's been brainwashed, Cas. We watched it happen." He settled back against the railing. "We need to get her out of there. How do we do it?"

"You sent her in without a plan to get her out?" Cas asked incredulously, his eyes widening slightly.

"No, we had a plan," Sam countered, his face reddening. "Now we need a back up plan."

It was a long moment before Castiel replied, seeming to mull over options in his mind before he offered to speak again. "Seeing a familiar face or hearing a familiar voice would most likely shock her back to the present. I would assume Ziva is not as susceptible as many others. It should not take very much to bring her back."

Sam released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, feeling a bit of hope for the first time that night.

"_So what's our next move here?_" Bobby ventured, slightly startling them. Caught up in the moment, they'd forgotten that Bobby was still on the line, hanging on to every word.

"Odin cannot be allowed to rise. At any cost, the ritual must be halted." Cas stared at the wooden boards thoughtfully. "Once the ritual is halted, we must ensure that they cannot try again."

"How do we do that?" Sam asked quietly.

Castiel met Sam's eyes, his gaze fixed and intense. "We must destroy Valhalla."

**000086753090000**

"Ariana," Leslie said quietly, holding Ziva back as the rest of the women filed out of the room, heading to the center room as they'd been instructed. She offered the Israeli a smile as she pushed the door closed, locking them in privacy. "All is...not as it seems with you, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked, worrying her fingers along the hem of her shirt.

"I mean that you could have handled your husband's temper if you had wanted." She crossed her arms, returning to her close study of the newcomer. "You are a strong woman, Ariana. You are _meant_ to be one of us."

"One of you?" she repeated, her confusion evident.

"Yes." Leslie smiled, stepping closer to Ziva, reaching out to take her hands. "You are destined for great things. You are meant to become a Valkyrie."

Ziva stumbled slightly, looking up in disbelief at the woman who held her hands. "A Valkyrie? Me? N-no." She blinked, shaking her head. "I am Israeli. I am Jewish. The strength in me comes from my service to my country and my people. That is all."

"So loyal." Leslie shook her head sadly. "You _do_ have the choice, you know. You can embrace this gift and become one of us, and _never_ have to worry about being mishandled again. We are feared, respected, even _worshiped."_

"I...I..." Ziva shook her head, taking a step back.

"You don't have to decide now. I will wait." She opened the door. "There's a little demonstration tonight that I _think_ might just change your mind." She smiled, stepping out into the hallway, leaving Ziva alone.

The Israeli leaned back against the wall, her mind spinning.

**000086753090000**

McGee looked toward the end of the hallway, his eyes resting on the closed door. He sighed heavily, pushing aside the catch in his chest as he did so. "What d'ya think they're talking about?"

"I don't like all this secret stuff," Tony murmured. "Seems farfetched, I know, but I'd rather hear the truth...what they're thinking...so at least we're on the same page."

Gibbs grunted in agreement, his shoulder finding a hard rest against the wall.

"They probably have a good reason for, ya know, not telling us," Abby finally offered, chewing anxiously on a hang nail. "I mean, Valkyries..." she trailed off, her eyes on the monitor. "And they're obviously hot for Ziva. The Valkyries, I mean...not Sam and Dean. Well, Sam maybe, but not in the way that the Valkyries are."

"We get it, Abs," Tony said quickly, silencing the rambling from the worried forensic scientist. He couldn't, however, disagree with her. The younger brother was obviously highly attracted to Ziva and had fought to keep her from going into the shelter alone. Tony knew that, if anything, he wouldn't do anything that would jeopardize her, at least, and by proxy, the team. "How ya holdin' up, probie?" he asked instead, directing his attention to the agent by his side. "Feeling okay?"

"Honestly?" McGee looked over at his partner, the exhaustion rimming his eyes overly obvious against his pale skin, the pain lines standing out starkly as if inked across his face. The longer he was up, the worse he felt. His only relief came when he was sedated, drifting toward his end in medicated oblivion. "I'm dying, Tony." He furrowed his brow, swallowing awkwardly over the lump in his throat. "Constant pain while I'm awake...can't do anything on my own. Even sitting up takes more concentration than I have to spare."

"Should we go back to bed, Timmy?" Abby asked quietly from her seat at the table, her slightly widened eyes resting on his face. Worry was eating her alive.

"No...I need to be here," he whispered, turning his attention back to the monitor. "I swear, it's like I've seen this before."

The team fell silent, all eyes coming back to watch Ziva as Leslie held her back in the room alone. They watched with bated breath as the offer was laid on the table in front of a confused Ziva who now believed she was, indeed, Ariana. Their only comfort now was that the cover had worked, and at least two of the women believed she was indeed, only Ariana and nothing more.

Sam and Dean rejoined them a few moments later, the phone now safely tucked back into Sam's front pocket. Their return drew the attention back away from the monitor again as it appeared Ziva was walking alone among the hallways now. All eyes now rested on the brothers, waiting for an explanation.

Dean released a heavy sigh, shifting his weight as he searched for the words he needed. "Well," he began, clearing his throat nervously, "the good news is...we're about ninety-five percent positive we know what's going on."

"And the bad news?" Gibbs ventured gruffly.

"The Valkyries are attempting to raise Odin from the dead," Sam finished, an expression that bordered on sickness painted across his face.

"Odin's dead?" Tony queried, obviously surprised. First they'd learned mythology wasn't exactly mythology, and now they were being told that one of the great pagan gods was dead. "That doesn't exactly make much sense."

"We watched him die," Sam answered quietly, feeling his brother shift uncomfortably by his side. "Odin, Mercury, Ganesh, Baldur...to name a few. Lucifer killed them. He killed his brother Gabriel...the same night. Kali would have died if Gabriel hadn't stepped in."

"Lucifer?" McGee repeated faintly.

"Yeah," Dean answered, his hands finding his hips. "Look, for my brother's sake, this is somethin' that doesn't need to be discussed, okay? You guys know how the Apocalypse was supposed to work...well, it almost happened. Lucifer tore through those bastards like they were paper."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as each person fell into their own thoughts, digesting what they'd just been told, guessing at what they were soon to face and what needed to be done.

"So, what do we do?" Abby finally questioned, breaking the heavy silence.

"Research," came the answer from the younger brother. "Find a way to defeat the Valkyries...then we destroy Valhalla."

**tbc...**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** **Apologies for taking so long. I was working on a contest piece...which never got finished. I'm back now, and hopefully should have more posted soon! Thanks, as always, for reading, and for all the reviews and adds. You guys are fantastic. Lots of love!**

Sam escorted an overly exhausted McGee back down to the room that Gibbs had given him. The others were completely engulfed in whatever writings and postings they could find about Valkyries, attempting to find weak points and a means to kill them while still being able to rescue their undercover agent. His eyes burning from tiredness himself, he'd volunteered to take the sickly agent back to the room and get him settled in while the others continued to work. He felt a kinship with the ailing agent that he couldn't quite put his finger on, and he wanted to sit down and talk to him.

Carefully, he lowered McGee onto the bed and helped him swing his legs up under the covers. He pulled the covers up around McGee's hips before perching on the edge of the bed, offering the agent a small smile. It seemed almost brotherly, something he _had_ done for his own brother on more that one occasion. McGee blushed slightly and looked down at the quilt cover, seeming overly embarrassed about having to be tended to.

"Hey," Sam chided gently, shaking his head, "you'd be surprised how often my brother and I do this for each other. There's a lot of injuries in this line of work. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know," McGee sighed, resting his head back against the headboard. He turned his gaze toward the younger Winchester, his eyes seeming to pierce Sam through to the soul. "Ya know, I can't quite put my finger on it, but you seem...so different from your brother."

Sam chuckled, rubbing his palm against his cheek, nodding slightly. "You could say that." They were completely different, having been poised on opposite sides of destiny. Good versus evil. His smile faded slightly. He wasn't evil. He would never be evil.

"Wanna...talk about it?" the young agent asked, seeing the battle of emotions wage across Sam's rugged face. He didn't miss the defeat that saddened Sam's eyes, or the resignation that had settled into his shoulders.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it." His brow furrowed and he cocked his jaw. "I'm not supposed to remember."

"That hardly seems fair."

"It isn't fair, but there's a year gone out of my life that I've practically been...forbidden to explore. I'm...I'm afraid to." That confession had taken quite a bit out of him. He looked down at the agent, unsure of why he felt the need to talk to this man, unsure of what made him worthy to hear the truths that no one else, outside of his brother and his surrogate father, understood.

Just as it always did when he began scratching at Death's wall, he found brief flashes of both his soulless life and his time in hell worming their way into his mind, distracting him from the current time. He felt the flames on his skin again and he gasped, his head finding his hands as he rocked slowly back and forth, willing the pain to go away.

"Sam?" McGee probed, slowly reaching out a hand to touch the afflicted man. The reassuring gesture seemed to shock Sam back into the present and he looked up through bright eyes, seeking affirmation that he was still in the room.

He released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Yeah," he answered roughly, clearing his throat.

"You okay?"

"Never better," he grumbled, frustrated that it had been that easy to send himself closer to tearing down the wall. This thing wasn't fool proof, of that, he was sure.

"That happen often?" came the next question, hitting uncomfortably close to home.

"Not...so much," he offered, running his hands through his hair, stretching to relieve the tension that had settled into his back. "More often lately than before." He looked over at the man who would be his confidant, a sad, sympathetic grimace clouding over his previous expression. "We should be more worried about getting you taken care of, Tim. I...I'll be fine. Hunters...let's just say our life expectancy isn't that great. Whatever happens to me, happens. You, though...you don't deserve that."

McGee laughed bitterly, his eyes moving to search the ceiling. "We're not so different, hunters and feds. At least not Gibbs' team, anyway."

"I'll admit, you guys have surprised me. Let's just say our previous experiences with the local PD and with feds...not so great." The younger Winchester hung his head. Those experiences had been too numerous to count. "Like I said, let's just focus on you...you and Ziva. Dean and I...we can take care of us. That's the way it's always been."

McGee turned his attention back to the man at his side, shaking his head. "That's not the way our team works, Sam Winchester." He seemed intense, desperately attempting to convey everything that he felt, everything that he knew to be right. "You're part of our team now, and a big part of that depends on being able to count on your partner. We're a family."

It took a moment for the deeper meaning of McGee's words to sink into Sam's mind. It seemed he was gently hinting that keeping large secrets from the team would be detrimental in the long run. A knot clenched in Sam's stomach as he thought about telling perfectly innocent people what had been done by his hand, what had been suffered by Dean, Bobby, and himself, along with the countless others who had died, hunter or civilian.

"I understand, Tim," he said quietly, "but I don't think anyone is ready to hear what we'd have to say. Maybe when this is all over, we'll sit down and talk about what's happened. I think I'd like that."

Disappointed, the agent forced himself to relax. He felt more useless than he'd ever felt before.

They were interrupted only moments later by Ducky, having just woken from his extended nap. He seemed refreshed, a smile on his face as he strode into the room, relieved to find McGee awake.

"Timothy, dear boy, how are we feeling?" he asked, standing at Sam's side.

"Worse, Ducky, always worse," he answered, sighing heavily. He met Sam's eyes again. "Thanks for bringing me back to the room, man."

"Sure, no problem," he answered, standing so Ducky could get closer to his patient. Reluctantly, he let himself out of the room, slowly returning to the kitchen, the base of operations.

Bobby was once again on the speakerphone, but it seemed the more he talked, the more agitated the team became. There wasn't much lore on Valkyries and it seemed like online searches had only led them to Operation Valkyrie or to online gaming guides. There was very little to go on and the agents weren't taking it well.

"I've got two agents out of the game and this is the news you wanna give me?" Gibbs growled, his grip tight on the back of Tony's chair, making his knuckles crack dangerously.

"_No, it's not the news I wanna give ya," _Bobby retorted, "_but it's the news you're gettin'. Like I said, these books gotta be translated...and it's slow goin'. Still, I'm not findin' anything about actually killin' them."_

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean cut in, not giving Gibbs another opportunity to speak. "Give us a yell if you find anything. We'll do the same, alright?"

"_Yeah."_ The phone clicked as Bobby hung up, the line falling silent.

"Do you guys always have that little info to go on?" Tony asked incredulously.

"Not always, no," Sam responded, stepping back into the kitchen. "Just lots of very old stuff has been popping out of the wood works lately, things that haven't been seen for centuries...so very few of the texts have been translated." He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall beside his brother. "Dr. Mallard is with McGee. The rest of you should probably get some sleep."

The kitchen slowly emptied as the agents reluctantly departed, each moving to find their own space to sleep in. Abby found herself making her way back down to McGee's room while Tony and Gibbs both made their way upstairs. Alone in the kitchen, Sam and Dean finally relaxed, sinking heavily down into the dining room chairs.

"God, Gibbs reminds me of dad," Dean mumbled, rubbing the heels of his palms roughly against his eyes. "He's a hard bastard."

"No kidding," Sam snorted, recalling the volatile look on Gibbs' face, hearing the former marine bark his frustration out to the team in the form of orders and demands. "What do we do now?"

"Dunno, Sammy. Maybe...maybe go catch one? I mean, there's gotta be something that works on these bitches. Tie her up and start carving...see what works?"

Sam's jaw worked as he processed his brother's suggestion, seeing no better alternative himself. Slowly, he nodded. "Sounds like as good of a plan as we're gonna get."

**000086753090000**

McGee laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He was in pain, his body shaking, but he didn't want the sedative taking away any more of his time. It might hurt, but he was set on not slipping away into the darkness asleep. These people were his family. If he was truly going to die, he was going to die having had every last opportunity to spend time with them, to make sure that they knew they were the most important to him. Abby was curled up at his side, her presence ever comforting to him, while Ducky was preoccupied with his latest psychological study book, his eyes contentedly scanning the crowded pages. McGee was too tired to try to feign interest in what the doctor was reading and he didn't want to wake Abby from her quiet sleep, so he continued to lay there, mulling over the situation at hand.

He tried to recall the dream where he'd first seen the Valkyrie, but all he could remember was the necklace and the woman who had worn it. There was no more detail that came to mind. His research through paranormal and mythology websites had led him to the Valkyries, but at that time, there had been nothing to suggest that the woman he'd dreamed of was one of them. When he'd scanned across the name, however, it had seemed to fit, like a key turning in a lock. He frowned slightly. Had the dream been some sort of warning or premonition?

Nearly snorting, he dismissed the thought from his mind. He was no psychic, no medium. He was just a federal agent and a book author, nothing more.

"Your team is...very tenacious," came the comment from the corner of the room, causing McGee to jump. "Don't be alarmed, Timothy. They cannot hear or see me. I am in your dream." Castiel stepped into view from the far corner, standing at the foot of the bed.

"My dream?" he repeated.

"Yes. You fell asleep. It is how I am able to visit you."

Slowly, he settled back against his pillows, trying to calm his racing mind.

"There isn't much time, Timothy," Castiel pressed. "I have heard and felt your doubts, I can see your fears. You feel as if you will die before you are needed."

"I don't have much time left," McGee answered. "I know, I can feel it."

"Your purpose has not changed," the angel assured, his gaze calculating as he studied the agent. "That is why I am here now, Timothy McGee." He took a few paces, bringing himself closer to the agent. "I need to know that you are ready to embrace your destiny."

McGee's mouth worked, but no sound seemed to escape his lips. He was confused, unsure of what was being asked of him. "My...my d-destiny?" he managed, his brow furrowed. He looked up into the blue eyes of Castiel, searching for the answers that he needed.

"You are a vessel of Heaven." Castiel sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving those of the agent. "Your body will be host to one of the most powerful warriors Heaven has to offer, one that will be able to aid the team in defeating the Valkyries."

"Like...like an arch angel?" he breathed, his eyes widening at the thought. "You want me...to give my body to an arch angel?"

The dark-haired angel sighed slightly, glancing away briefly. "If you refuse, I want you to understand that you will die in under two days time. That is unavoidable."

"And...and if I accept?" He was breathless now, but attempting to hold his breath in order to hear everything that was being said to him. He needed to understand.

"If you accept, you will play the biggest role in saving the world. You will be able to save Ziva and the rest of your team. You will have the power of Heaven at your disposal. It is not one of the arch angels that you will receive, but one of the new hosts of Heaven. One of my lieutenants."

McGee found himself looking over at Ducky, then at Abby. His gaze softened as his eyes seemed to caress over her sleeping form. His precious Abby, the woman he'd loved and left, but couldn't help but continue to love. He didn't know what he'd do if harm ever came to her. Accepting Castiel's deal would be the best way to keep her safe, and the best for the rest of the team. None of them would take his death very well, especially not Abby, and he'd seen the way that Special Agent Kaitlin Todd's death had affected Gibbs. He'd been with the team longer than Kate had before she was killed, and the four of them were a family.

He looked back over at Castiel, his throat working as he swallowed nervously. "What do I need to do?"

"Accept your destiny," he replied.

"If it'll save my team, then yes. Anything. Whatever you need." His fists clenched in the bed covers.

"You've made the right choice." Castiel stood, moving away from the bed, his nod of approval fading into the shadows.

McGee looked around, confused again as the departing flutter of wings sounded from the darkened corner.

"Everything alright, my boy?" Ducky asked, peering at him from over his book.

"I...I..." he stammered, his eyes widened slightly. A sudden light appeared above him, catching his attention. He snapped his head heavenward, the overly bright light reflecting on his face.

Ducky stood, his book falling haphazardly onto the floor. "Timothy?"

"It's okay, Ducky," he answered, turning a serene gaze to the doctor, a slight smile touching his lips. "This is my destiny." He looked back up as the light continued to brighten, enveloping his thin body in a warm embrace.

The brightness of the light forced Ducky to look away, his eyes watering as if he'd been staring at the sun. He heard Abby shriek, a few tell-tale bumps telling him that she'd fallen off the bed. "Shield your eyes, Abigail," he warned, trying to make his way to her.

The light pulsed slowly, intensifying until it suddenly faded, seeming to suck all of the light from the room. Blindly, the doctor searched the floor for Abby, his hands closing over her forearms as he pulled her roughly to her feet.

"Sorry about that, dear," he managed, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands, his glasses discarded on the bed.

"What the hell just happened?" she cried, hearing the door crash open. A curse met her ears and she turned blindly toward the sound. "Who's there?"

"Sam and Dean," the younger Winchester answered as Dean made his way over to the forensic scientist, cupping her chin so he could check her eyes. Likewise, he stepped over to the doctor, both relieved to find that the blindness was temporary.

"What just happened?" she asked again, her hands closing over Dean's wrists to hold him in place. "Where's Timmy? Is he okay?"

"Your friend is gone," Dean fumed, instantly regretting his bluntness as a tortured sob tore from her throat in response. "No, no, no. He's not dead."

"Then what?" she sobbed.

"He's an angel," Sam finished quietly, the words burning like fire in his throat.

**tbc...**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I know, I'm terrible. And I'm afraid I'm only going to continue to grow more terrible, but I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ride here on 'Preparing the Way.' As always, much love and many thanks go out to those of you who continually support me and leave reviews. I would also like to thank those of you who have added my stories or me to your favorites and your watch list. It means a lot!**

**On a side note: _Author's Note_ Fanfic convention (NCIS/Supernatural) is set to go in July in VA. For more information, check out Xenascully, her website: xenascully dot com, or find her on Facebook as Xenascully and check the Author's Note tab on her fan page. (She also happens to be a great writer and a great friend ~.^). Hope to see you there!**

**You may also find me on Facebook if ya like me enough as Casmoiraitiel! Happy reading!**

**And now, without further delay (a bit of a longer chapter ^.^)...**

McGee's illuminating disappearance coupled with Abby's shriek had roused the entire house, sending them all to regroup in the kitchen once more. No one had been asleep for more than just a few minutes and tempers were short. Gibbs stood once again, his expression dangerously mutinous, staring directly into the eyes of the oldest Winchester.

"I don't know what the _hell_ is goin' on here," he blasted, "but I'm not gonna sit by while my team disappears one by one. Answers. _Now!_ I don't like being confused and I sure as hell don't like being kept in the dark. _What the hell just happened to my agent?"_

Abby sat at the table, her knees together and feet apart, giving her a slightly awkward appearance as she held her head in her hands. An occasional muffled sob escaped from her, tearing at the brothers' hearts. Tony's own wide-eyed expression seemed to be misted over as he looked back and forth between his boss and the two men who stood in front of them. They all wanted answers. They needed answers. They deserved answers.

Dean shifted anxiously on the balls of his feet, searching the air between them to find the right thing to say. His mouth started to work a few times, but he thought better of it and shook his head, resting his hand on his hips. "Look," he finally began, "maybe this would go better if we all sat down."

Chairs scraped across the floor as Gibbs, Tony, and Ducky took seats across the table from them. Sam and Dean slowly took their own chairs, facing the NCIS team with uncertainty. The older brother exchanged a heavy glance with the younger, still unsure of what to say.

"One of you gonna talk?" Gibbs demanded heatedly, his arms crossed decidedly over his chest.

Sam looked from Gibbs to his brother, seeing the slightly panicked look on the face of the younger man. He took a deep breath, holding up a hand to draw attention to himself. "What we're dealing with here is bigger than...than any of us. What happened to McGee,...he chose that. He was a vessel for an angel." He saw the fire flash to life in Gibbs' eyes once more and he sat forward, his other hand coming to rest on the table. "We didn't know." He tried to force as much confidence into his voice as possible, sincerity plainly blazed across his face, and he refused to shrink back from Gibbs' gaze. "Look, we didn't know...and we thought we had more time."

"What does it mean...that he's a 'vessel?'" Gibbs asked, repeating the phrase very precisely, his fingers ticking away against his forearm.

"It means that there's somethin' different inside him," Dean responded gruffly.

"We're not happy about this either. We were tricked," Sam pressed, slowly lowering his hands to his lap, his feet tapping away nervously at the floor. "Your friend, he's alive. That much we know. This angel vessel thing...isn't always a permanent assignment."

"How do we find out?" Tony managed.

Dean and Sam looked down at the table for a moment, the older passing a silent moment of relief at Sam's tact, something he had missed while Sam's soul was in the pit. Sam had saved them from a certain scalping by the lethally angered marine across the table. Gibbs, it appeared, was listening with peaked interest, the anger tucked safely away behind a mask of cool, calculating, assumed indifference, belied only by his piercing eyes.

"Honestly, guys, the best bet is to finish off this mission," Sam breathed, looking back up. "I...We think that Tim was chosen for a reason...and that reason is specifically to help with what we're dealing with now. As much as I hate to admit it, we have a better chance with the angels on our side. We still have no idea to kill these guys."

A reluctant murmur of agreement seemed to course around the table, leaving everyone looking at each other a bit dejectedly. The loss of McGee had hit the team hard. Even with the suggestion that McGee wasn't on permanent assignment did little to ease the air of grief that had settled over the agents. Abby's sobs hadn't abated any, and her shoulders shook visibly under her thin sleeping gown.

"You're sayin' McGee is still alive," came the statement from Gibbs as he picked apart what they'd said.

"Most likely, yes," Dean answered.

"And that he'll be returned to us when this is all over," he ventured further.

Sam nodded slowly.

The older man pushed himself away from the table and moved to stand behind the grief-stricken forensic scientist, strong hands pulling her to stand and into a strong embrace. The sudden display of affection caught the boys off guard as Gibbs held Abby tight, pressing his lips close to her ear. After a few moments, the tension in the young woman seemed to flow away until she simply laid limp in Gibbs' arms. He stroked her back in slow circles, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"We've had enough drama for the night," he said quietly. "If anything should happen to my agent, I will find you...no matter where you run." He paused to let his promise sink in, accepting the slightly sickened nods of understanding from the brothers. "Regroup in the morning, 0600 hours." He lifted Abby, waiting for her to wrap her arms around his shoulders before he started off down the hall, leaving the rest of the men in the kitchen to stare after them in uneasy silence.

The group slowly dispersed, leaving Sam and Dean once more alone in the kitchen, staring blankly at the monitor. The room that Ziva was in was pitch black. The sound of even breathing told them that the women where asleep, and Dean couldn't help but be reminded that they, too, should be resting.

Sam chanced a glance over at his brother, sighing slightly. "Go sleep, dude. I'll set up here."

"Uh huh, like that's gonna happen." He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes, partly in frustration. "Couldn't sleep now if I wanted to. The _hell_ was Cas thinkin'? He _knew_ he was sending us in for this...no freakin' warning, man."

"I dunno, Dean...maybe this time, it's not so bad. I mean, Tim woulda been dead in days. At least this way, he has a shot, ya know."

"Not so bad? Dude. C'mon." He cast an incredulous glance to the younger Winchester, his green eyes meeting mossy hazel. "You know what it's like to play second fiddle in your own mind."

"Yeah, Dean...I know." He sighed, stretching in his chair before settling forward, bringing up another search page on his laptop. "If you're not gonna sleep, might as well keep reading. The sooner we figure this out, the better it'll be for all of us. I have a feeling that Gibbs would keep good on his promise."

Dean shuddered, reaching for the book nearest to him. "Yeah, ya think?"

Without a further word, the two brothers settled down into the chairs, the only sound between them being the clicking of keys and turning of pages as they sifted through the helpless lore in front of them, hoping to glean some insight from what they read. They would have to strike soon.

**000086753090000**

Ziva stirred as she felt someone shake her gently, her eyes peeling slowly open. Leslie's face swam into focus above her, and she was smiling broadly, her hand extended down to give her a hand up.

"What time is it?" Ziva murmured groggily, accepting the hand up and fixing her glasses to her face.

"Almost three in the morning," came the response as she lead Ziva from the room. "I told you we had something special arranged, Ariana." Still smiling, she led the tired agent out of the room and to the central activity room, positioning her at the bottom point of the five-sided star that had been drawn in white chalk on the floor. Wide-eyed, Ziva looked around, seeing other women positioned at each point, each facing the center. She fidgeted nervously, unsure of what was happening.

Another woman with similar striking features like Leslie stepped into the room, carrying candles which she arranged carefully around the pentagram drawn on the floor, directly in front of the feet of the women who stood on each point and directly in between each point of the star, moving around to light each only after they were situated. Incense came next, lit in each corner of the room, filling the chamber with sweet-smelling smoke. Ziva sniffed, guessing the scent was sage.

A horrified cry rent the air, drawing her attention to the far corner, the hair raising warningly on the back of her neck. She didn't understand what was happening, or why her muscles seemed to be tensing for action. Her mind kept telling her, fight or flight, but it didn't seem to make sense. That wasn't how she was wired.

A man was forced into view from the shadowed corner, a knife pressed into the small of his back to force him to walk. He was in partial cammies, his camouflaged pants tucked into his black duty boots. A white tee-shirt, dirty and bloody, adorned his upper body, stretched tautly across his well-muscled frame. This man was obviously strong, yet completely at the mercy of the woman behind him. Leslie forced him into the very center of the symbol on the floor, pushing him to his knees before the gathered women.

"He's a fine specimen, isn't he, ladies?" she asked, her eyes glinting as she looked into the faces of those assembled. "This...brave young man will bring us one step closer to the ultimate prize. We will be rewarded beyond measure when our father walks the halls of Valhalla once more."

Ziva's breath froze in her chest and her eyes widened considerably. This man was meant to be sacrificed, the blade of the knife glinting off of the dim light of the room, held flush against the tender skin of his neck to keep him still.

_This...this is not right,_ Ziva thought to herself, her hands fisting at her side. _Someone __needs to stop this. Someone...me. I...I need to stop this. _She searched the air in front of her, slightly shocked that the thought had crossed her mind. Her eyes narrowed slightly as memories began to intrude, flashes of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. _I cannot stop this. _A badge and a gun flashed into her mind, making her pause. She focused on the memory in fascination. The badge had a picture of her on it. _'Ziva David,'_ she read to herself, her lips mouthing the name over and over again. More images came. There was a man only a few years older than her, dressed in a nice suit, his brown hair carefully gelled into place and his eyes sparkling as he laughed at the man next to him, a blond-haired man, thin and gaunt. These were her team mates, her partners, DiNozzo and McGee. _I am...Agent Ziva David, with NCIS. My cover...is Ariana._ She looked up, blinking rapidly as if clearing her vision of the haze that plagued her mind. _I am here undercover. I am Special Agent Ziva David._

"...worthy sacrifice," Leslie pressed on, a triumphant look on her face as the women began chanting in a language Ziva didn't understand.

The chanting grew louder and the lines of the symbol they stood around began to blur and seemingly move, wrapping around the soldier who still knelt in the center. His eyes widened as Leslie's grip tightened in his short hair, yanking his head back to expose the smooth skin of his neck. He was a boy, no more than twenty-five, his life taken from him with a precise flick of the wrist as the blade sank into his skin, slicing through the jugular vein. The arterial spray arched out wildly before his body fell to the floor, blood pooling beneath his lifeless corpse, his open eyes staring blindly up at Ziva. Still, the chanting did not stop, instead growing to a deafening level as the women raised their hands, reaching toward the body, their hands outstretched mockingly as if to pull him back to safety.

Leslie's eyes seemed to glow as she reached for the pendant on the necklace she wore, lifting it from under her shirt and pulling it over her head. Ziva watched as she pulled the lid from the horn-like pendant, holding it over the body. A blue glow seemed to raise through the air, bright and pulsing. It fought as Leslie held the opening of the horn toward it, but the pull was too great, and only seconds later, it was enclosed inside, the lid refastened securely over the top.

The chanting changed, and the star laid flat against the floor again, the bottom point coming to rest at her feet. She watched, speechless, as the freshly-spilled blood rushed forward, tracing the outline of the pentagram. With a brilliant flash and a resounding _pop_, it was over. The room was silent.

Ziva's eyes slowly readjusted to the room and she jumped slightly as she felt hands close over hers. She squinted, finding Leslie standing in front of her, beaming.

"We are so close to raising Odin, Ariana," she breathed, clearly enraptured. "I can feel the power of these souls, of all the souls we have gathered." She held her pendant lovingly, one hand still holding tightly to Ziva. "Just a few more of the _right_ warriors and we'll see our father again."

"The right warriors?" Ziva repeated in question, trying to avoid looking at the body on the floor.

She nodded, gesturing for several of the women to take care of the body. "There are at least two here in the city, ones that are truly warriors." She sighed wistfully. "All of the warriors we find now are young, inexperienced. They're big in heart, but...not the way they used to be when Valkyries freely walked the field of battle." A genuinely sad smile touched her lips. "This isn't us...this whole sacrifice thing, but it's necessary. We used to walk among the dead and dying, choosing which souls to bring with us."

"Now you just choose souls, regardless of life or death." Ziva couldn't keep the accusatory tone from her voice. "These men...most of them have families, wives, young children."

"It gives them reason to fight. That purpose...is so powerful." Another enraptured look passed over her face, as if feeling the very power she spoke of. "Intoxicating."

Disgust flooded every fiber of the Israeli's being and she had to fight not to pull out of Leslie's grip. "Are you really so heartless?"

Her answer came in the form of a small laugh. "We _were_ mercy." She led the woman she called Ariana out of the central room as the rest of the women cleaned up behind them. "Just think of it. Men laid dying, many facing Hell itself as their only comfort. True warriors, though, fueled our army. Valhalla was full of the souls of such men, who were plucked from Hell's embrace...by _us._" She cast a side-long glance to the dark-haired beauty beside her. "We aren't heartless. It is simply the need that has changed. Odin must rise again and take his place. Ragnarok lies ahead of us where we will finally realize our true destinies...all of us."

"Ragnarok?" Her heart sank.

"Surely you didn't think that the Judeo-Christians were the only ones facing an apocalypse." She opened the door to the sleeping area, fully facing Ziva again. "The end of the world is coming, Ariana. Raising our father is just the beginning." She smiled slightly, cupping Ziva's cheek. "Wouldn't you like to be on the winning side?" With those words, she turned on her heel, striding quickly back down the hallway, leaving a very stunned Ziva in her wake.

Shaken to the core, the Israeli sank down heavily on her bed, staring wide-eyed at the wall. _What have I gotten myself into?_

**000086753090000**

"Hey," Sam shook his brother awake, rousing Dean from the unintended sleep he'd fallen into over one of the books in front of him.

Groggily, Dean wiped the drool from the side of his face, scowling at his wet hand as he wiped it on his jeans. "Wha'sit? Better be good, Sammy." He turned bleary eyes to his younger brother, waiting expectantly to hear why he'd been pulled from a particularly enjoyable dream.

Sam pointed at the monitor, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ziva's cover is still intact." He paused for a moment, watching what was happening on screen. "Dude, I think...I think...a sacrifice is happening right now." His hands gripped the denim of his jeans as he sat forward, noticing his brother do the same from the corner of his eye.

"No way." He watched Leslie position Ziva at the bottom corner of the pentagram.

"Yeah, definitely a sacrifice." He looked over quickly. "Cas?"

Dean's agreeing nod was met with the immediate flutter of wings, as if Castiel had simply been hovering above them, waiting for his name to come up. The sudden appearance, without either of them having prayed for his arrival, was a bit unnerving.

"What are you doin', Cas?" Dean asked roughly, his eyes narrowed as he looked up at the angel. "Usually, we have to pray."

"I have to stay close at the moment, Dean," he answered, his deep voice filling the kitchen, making it seem cavernous. "The last thing I need is to be too far away to answer your call." He paused, looking between the brothers. "Have you found something?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Sam motioned for Castiel to join them, gesturing at the monitor. "I think we're about to see something we're not gonna like."

In horrified silence, they watched the event unfurl in front of them, unable to do anything to stop what was happening. It seemed that the Valkyries had anticipated angelic intrusion and had rendered the shelter unattainable to the heavenly hosts. Occasional glimpses of Enochian magicks had already been captured by Ziva's camera, showing them why Castiel couldn't just take them in to finish the job.

"Ragnarok?" Dean fumed, turning angrily to the angel at his side. "Cas? Really? _Another_ friggin' Apocalypse?" He clenched and unclenched his fists at his side, feeling overwhelmed by the force of his own emotion. "How many times do we have to save the world before we get a break, huh? How many times do we have to watch innocents die before it's enough?"

"I am...sorry, Dean," Castiel replied, his voice flat and emotionless as always, his eyes devoid of the slight concern he usually offered in such a situation. The change wasn't unnoticed by the brothers. "I would have stopped it alone had circumstances been different." He faced the older Winchester fully, almost as if in challenge. "I cannot stop this on my own. I need your help."

"Then how do we kill these bitches?" Dean demanded hotly. "Because I, for one, am not gonna sit by and let these women bleed another poor sap just because he happens to be a soldier."

Castiel took a step back. "The Colt should work." He exhaled, pausing for a moment. "Blessed stakes _should_ work as well."

"That's all well and good, Cas," Sam murmured, "but what about McGee? Which angel took him?"

"Timothy McGee is now host to Zerachiel, one of my lieutenants. He will aide you as soon as the binding magic is gone."

Sam ran a hand raggedly through his long hair, his free hand coming to rest on his hip. "Cas, tell me that he'll be released when this is all over. The team doesn't deserve this. Tim...doesn't deserve this."

Castiel looked away briefly, "I can make no promises, Sam." A momentary flash of guilt crossed his face. "The two of you should be very careful from here on," he warned, disappearing before either could respond.

Dean cursed. As much as he hated to think it, he was beginning to think that Sam and Bobby had a reason to suspect that Castiel was up to something. That idea was beginning to become far too real for him to ignore. The look that he got from his brother seemed only to affirm what he was feeling, as if Sam was trying to say '_See, Dean? Do you see it now? Something isn't right here.'_ He drug his hand awkwardly over his lips, realizing how uncomfortably dry his mouth was. Nervously, he swallowed over the seemingly sandy lump in his throat.

"What now, Dean?" Sam queried quietly, genuinely seeking his brother's advice. _What do we do about Castiel? How do we end this Valkyrie thing _now_? How do we save Tim? Whatever is going on, we can't let these people suffer any more for it, Dean. They don't deserve this._

"God, Sammy," he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation and loss, "I...I honestly don't know." _Is there really no such thing as trust anymore? What if he is hiding something? What do we do? Help me, Sammy. Please..._

**tbc... **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I'm glad you all have somewhat enjoyed the new turn of events. I'm sure someone will let me know the moment I become too predictable in my writing. Welcome to the new adds and the new reviewers; I'm very happy to see you all here! Thanks, as always, to those of you who have followed me from the beginning. You guys are awesome. :)**

Gibbs stared blankly up at the ceiling, his arms still protectively holding a restless, troubled Abby close. She had fallen asleep, but only after he'd spent hours reassuring her that everything would work out, hours that he'd continually had to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Beyond the point of exhaustion, she had draped herself across his chest and succumbed to a grief-filled sleep, her hand wrapped in the fabric of his shirt to keep him from moving. She needed him there, with her. Unable to fathom the thought of causing Abby further pain and discomfort, he'd settled himself in and held her tight. Only in his embrace did she seem to relax at all.

Unable to sleep himself, he'd given in to the thoughts that paraded boldly through his mind. Losing McGee hurt him deeper than he cared to admit, and even knowing that his agent hadn't actually died didn't seem to make much of a difference. How did one become an angel's vessel anyway? What Dean had said to him hadn't made sense. There was something different inside McGee? Sure, the few years that he'd been a probationary NCIS agent under Gibbs' command had shaped him into a more confident young man, his aptitude with firearms and interrogation finally rising to meet his skill with most things technological, but what quality was it that he possessed that set him above the rest of humanity?

His thoughts bothered him and he struggled not to let out a wretched sigh that would shake Abby from her sleep. He was truly forgetting that, had Tim McGee said no to the angel, that they'd be putting his thin, gaunt, lifeless body into the ground within the week. Images of Kate's funeral filled his mind, then Jenny's, followed by a string of faces that he'd not thought about in a long while. He frowned, for the first time in his life, genuinely confused. There was no 'gut feeling' this time to point him in a direction, and that didn't sit well with him.

His mind then touched on Ziva and he felt worry fill him again. As tough as he tried to appear, his weak spot was his agents, any one of them. Knowing that Ziva was stuck in that shelter with no memory of who she was tore at him. What happened if the women started asking questions? Had they implanted enough of 'Ariana' in Ziva for her cover?

He exhaled through his nose, checking the time on his wrist watch. Their regroup time wasn't far away. There would be no sleep for him that night, not that he could sleep if he wanted to. He looked down at Abby again, catching a stray tear on his fingertip as it worked its way from the corner of her eye. Poor Abby. She always took things so hard, and she had truly loved McGee. As much as it pained him to she her that way, he knew that this time, he couldn't vow to make things right because this time, he was pretty sure there was no way he _could_ make things right. How was he, a mere man, supposed to oppose a soldier of Heaven?

The gentle ticking of his watch seemed too loud with the only other sound in the room being Abby's finally even breaths as she slept deeply, her sleep undisturbed. He found himself counting the seconds, mentally ticking off each minute that passed as he laid there, unmoving and silent. Eternities seemed to pass before he gently untangled himself from Abby's reaching limbs, pulling the covers up over her securely before leaning over, placing a fatherly kiss against her temple.

"Rest, Abby," he whispered, "I'm not going far, I promise." He tucked a stray strand of her black hair back from her face as she shifted, curling onto her side, her back to the doorway. Carefully, he drew back, sliding out into the hallway and closing the door quietly behind him. He could already hear voices in the kitchen, surprising him considering it was still half an hour before time to regroup. Pausing outside the entryway, he decided to take in what was being said before he made himself known.

It appeared the brothers were still there, apparently not having slept at all the night before, and he could hear Tony chime in occasionally, which surprised him. Normally, Tony would have been sliding into the room at the last minute, but from the sound of the conversation, it appeared that he'd been there for a good while.

"...not going to fix itself," Dean was saying, obviously displeased, "we need a plan and we need one fast."

"If we're gonna get Cas in there, those symbols have gotta be broken," Sam added. "He said the Colt _should _work, so at least that part is taken care of." The sound of running water filled the kitchen, slacking off as it caught in something. A glass. "Any way to get a message to Ziva?"

"I don't think so," Tony reluctantly answered, his fingers drumming on the table top. "She's the best at what she does, though. If she got wind that we were moving, she'd know what to do." He cleared his throat. "I mean, what other choice do we have?"

Taking that moment, Gibbs took the last few steps into the kitchen, his eyes quickly traveling over each man before he moved over to the coffeemaker, quickly and effortlessly putting on a pot to brew.

"Morning, boss," his senior agent greeted as Gibbs took a seat at the table. "How's Abby?"

"She's sleeping, DiNozzo," he answered, unable to hide the slight note of fatigue that flavored his words. "That's more than I'd hoped for."

A moment of discomfort seemed to pass between the two men, something that the brothers didn't miss. They were both seeking answers and direction, which was completely out of character for both men. Being in unknown territory, they were forced to wear a mask of confidence when truly, it was just like being back at the first day on the job.

"Well," Dean offered, his eyes momentarily locking with the icy blue orbs that seemed to illuminate Gibbs' face, "the good news is, your agent on the inside seems to have recovered."

"Ziva?" Gibbs asked, immediately appraising the dark monitor.

"There's bad news too," the older brother hastily supplied, "but don't worry, she still seems to be safe."

"About three o'clock this morning, she was witness to a full sacrifice," Sam spoke instead, "more complex than any I've seen in a really long time." He was trying his best to keep his feelings from creeping into his voice. He was worried. "From what we heard, it sounds like the need for sacrifices is almost over. They're just looking for a few more...apparently very special sacrifices."

"Any ideas on who that would be?" Gibbs asked, squashing his desire to demand to see the footage that had been captured.

Sam and Dean looked between one another, a sickly half-smile nervously covering their faces. "That would be us," the older replied, "for starters."

"There might be more, but from the way this 'Leslie' was talking, it wouldn't be much more than two." Sam looked down at the table, his face heated. It seemed conceited, to him, like overvaluing himself to even start to believe that they were the special sacrifices that the Valkyries sought, but the fact that he and his brother had been destined to play vessel for the most powerful angels of Heaven kept intruding in his mind.

Gibbs stood, moving back to pour himself a cup of coffee as the brothers struggled to reign in their runaway thoughts, each appearing to have gone in the same direction in their way of thinking. "I know," he said, depositing himself back at the table with his full mug of rich home brew. "Struggling with pride."

Nodding once, Sam turned back to the monitor before glancing over at Tony. "You mind playing that back?"

Tony stood, moving over to the computer and, after silently cursing himself for not being as adept as McGee, pulled open the footage that had been captured that morning. He settled back into his seat as the clip began to roll. Those in the room watched in silence, taking in every word as they watched the sacrifice of the soldier on screen. They heard Ziva's words, felt her anger, and knew that she had, indeed, woken from whatever spell she was under. Her mask was still in tact, but for those who knew her well enough, they could pick out the little differences that made her uniquely Ziva. A visible relaxation settled over her team mates.

"She couldn't have stopped it," Tony murmured, appearing not to let the scene disturb him. After all, it wasn't the first time he'd seen someone die. It was just the first time he'd actually watched a sacrifice.

"No, she couldn't have. She made a hard choice." Sam looked away from the monitor. "If she'd tried, she'd most likely have been the next sacrifice." He looked between the two agents.

Decidedly, Gibbs sat his mug down hard on the table, leaning forward slightly. "We're going to get her." He paused for emphasis. "Today." _I am _not_ losing another agent._

No one wanted to argue that with him. They had enough to go on. Ziva was in deep enough. It was time to pull her out before something happened that they couldn't stop. The only problem with that was that they were too late now. Ziva had already seen too much for the Valkyries to just let her go. Getting her out would be a fight. Getting her out would mean destroying the Valkyries. Getting her out would mean that they would have to finish what they came here to do...by tonight.

"Well, then," Dean pushed himself back from the table, "we have a lot of work to do."

**000086753090000**

"That," Gibbs murmured appreciatively, "is a beautiful piece." He looked up at Dean, waiting for the go-ahead. Gingerly, he picked up the Colt from the table, running his fingers over the markings with interest.

"Made by Samuel Colt, over a century ago," Dean said proudly, watching the older man almost fondle the gun. "One of the few weapons in existence than can kill most of the big bads out there."

"One?" Tony quipped, his eyes sweeping the weapon collection that lined most of the kitchen counters, spilling into the living room.

Sam held up a knife with a small smile, it's jagged edge glinting dangerously in the florescent lighting. "This is another. Mainly for demons, though." He slid it into a make-shift leather sheathe at his waist before reaching for a smaller bag, passing the remaining necklaces to the rest of those gathered in the room. "Just in case."

Tony recognized the pendants as a mirror to the one he wore, his hand moving to check that the cord still hung around his own neck.

"What are these?" Abby asked, uncharacteristically quiet, sliding it over her head.

"Protects you from being possessed."

Her eyes widened slightly and she nodded, lapsing back into silence, watching what was happening in the room. Gibbs had already mandated that she and Ducky would be staying behind, but Ducky had surprisingly protested, demanding to be at least somewhere near in case medical attention was necessary. Abby and Ducky would be staying with the cars, safely away from where the action would be happening.

Castiel arrived unceremoniously in their midst, his arms laden with what appeared to be stakes. He dropped them on the table, ignoring their clamoring as they rebounded off of each other before settling on the flat surface. "You're certain you're ready?" came the question as he looked about the room.

"Gotta happen now, Cas. You heard what that crazy bitch said," Dean quipped, checking his ammunition.

Castiel held his tongue as his eyes settled on the older brother. He and Sam were putting what the Valkyries wanted right in their grasp. It was dangerous, but it was unavoidable. Either sooner or later, the result would be the same.

"Zerachiel will meet you there. Do not move until he is with you."

"Zerachiel?" Tony repeated with some difficulty, blinking as Castiel had left their midst. He directed his questioning gaze then fell on the brothers, waiting expectantly.

"It's Tim," Sam offered quietly.

Silence fell over the room as the men continued their gear up, eyes glancing frequently at the monitor to watch what was happening at the shelter. By mid-afternoon, they stood ready, as ready as they could be, staring at one another as if waiting for someone to make the first move.

Sam adjusted his hold on the duffel while Dean tucked the Colt carefully away in its usual place, nestled against his skin. The brothers looked at the two agents, avoiding the pained face of Abby, appraising them for a long moment.

Dean sighed, nodding, jerking his head toward the door. "Alrighty, then," he said, settling into his natural leader role with only slight discomfort. There was no room for panic now. "Let's do this."

**tbc...**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Part 1 is winding down now, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed your ride thus far. Keep an eye out. Part 2 should be up not long after Part 1 ends. As always, thank you for your wonderful reviews. That's what keeps me writing! You guys are great. Welcome to the new followers and adds.**

**And now...**

The Impala pulled against the curb, cutting the engine as Gibbs' truck pulled in behind them, following suit. Almost simultaneously, they exited their vehicles, congregating at the trunk of the car, glancing uneasily around the block. It was far too quiet here, and it didn't go unnoticed. It was still daylight out, yet no kids played at the youth center and there was no one rushing along the sidewalk to go home. This particular street was normally busy, but even the passing car was rare.

"Was it this quiet when we were here the other day?" Tony questioned quietly, his eyes falling back to Dean expectantly.

Dean turned slowly on his heel, carefully searching each corner and side street. "No, Tony." He paused, turning back to the group. "I don't think it was." He noticed the wave of tension that seemed to pass through the group and knew he had to do something to preoccupy them while they waited. "Alright, let's get set up. Not much daylight left."

Sam popped the trunk as Abby retreated back to the cab of the truck, rustling with what was inside. Tony moved to help her while the brothers sorted through the bags they had thrown into the back.

"Got a bad feeling, Dean." Sam holstered another gun, attempting to hide the worried frown that touched his lips.

"Yeah, Sammy," he sighed, "me too." He looked over at his younger brother, offering him a sad smile. "Put on a brave face, will ya?" He turned, passing off several firearms to Gibbs before searching through the smaller compartments in the trunk for ammunition.

Sam, finished for the moment, laid his bag aside, scanning the area while the others worked. He crossed his arms, leaning against the car. The nagging feeling that he'd expressed to his brother had settled in the pit of his stomach, making him slightly queasy, just as he'd felt before giving himself to Lucifer. The will had been there, and the strength to say yes had burrowed through his fear, but it hadn't quelled his nausea.

Ducky, left with his hands empty and feeling more than a little out of place, made his way over to the younger brother, noting the change in his demeanor. "A penny for your thoughts, my dear boy." He leaned against the car, close to Sam, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Sam looked down at the doctor, his jaw working as he attempted to process the thoughts that clouded his mind. The small man seemed unperturbed by the large, daunting frame of the man who stood beside him, instead studying the lifeless Youth Center in front of him as if it held all the answers in the world.

"Don't think they're worth that much, honestly," he retorted, running his hand absently through his hair.

Ducky chuckled, shaking his head. "I know we've not gotten to sit down and have a chat since you and your brother arrived here, but I have watched you enough to know that what you...and your brother...are dealing with is tearing you up inside." He cast a glace up to Sam's face, noting that his words had had the desired effect. "Neither of you are exactly an open book. What is it exactly has you so at war with yourself, Sam Winchester?"

His shoulders slumped as he considered answering the question. He'd already promised both Ziva and Tim that he'd talk to them once everything was over. What if tonight was the last night? What if that 'later' never came? Where was that brave face he was supposed to have put on? "It's hard to hide anything from your team."

"Well, they _are_ trained investigators, after." A sly smirk crossed the doctor's face.

Sam couldn't help but let out his own small laugh, feeling the tension break around him. "Thanks, Dr. Mallard."

"Oh, heavens, please. Call me Ducky." The M.E. waved him off dismissively at the former title. "You're part of the team, for now. You might as well act like it."

"Thanks,...Ducky." Sam smiled. He was truly beginning to enjoy being with this team.

"If you do ever want to talk, my boy, I'm always up for a nice chat. Perhaps over tea." He pushed himself away from the Impala, noticing Abby wave him over. "We mustn't think that this is the last time we'll be seeing each other, Samuel." He patted the hunter on the shoulder before moving away to help the forensic scientist with her equipment.

Sam watched him go, thinking about what he'd said. A new determination seemed to settle over him then, giving him the push he needed. This _wouldn't_ be the last time they'd see each other. Any of them. Somehow, some _way_, he'd figure out how to make everything right for this team when everything was over.

**000086753090000**

"And that should be it," Abby announced, fixing a pin cam to Gibbs' lapel before scooting back into the cab of the truck to fiddle with the small monitor she'd brought. They each had a small camera affixed to them so she and Ducky could keep a watch on what was happening inside. "Now we can both keep an eye on you out here." She handed him an earwig, a stern look on her face. "I want to hear from you guys regularly, or else...else I'm...don't make me come in after you." She paused, looking over at Dean. "That means you too, mister."

He flinched, not expecting the bear hug that she wrapped him in. Awkwardly, he patted her back before lightly assuring her that they'd be checking in regularly. The others watched the exchange in amusement, used to the affection Abby was used to showing everyone.

"We're not losing anybody else," she stated, stepping back and crossing her arms defiantly.

No one dared to contradict her.

It was only moments later that the flutter of wings brought both Castiel and Zerachiel into the group, the agents having become accustomed enough to the unexpected arrivals not to be alarmed. Their eyes, however, were trained on what had been their agent, Timothy McGee. The angel locked eyes with each of them briefly.

"It is my deepest regret that it happened this way," he offered, his voice deep and gravelly, holding a command none had noticed before. "I'm here to aide you."

Dean cleared his throat, stepping back. He lifted the stakes from their resting place, distributing them to the others, even to Ducky and Abby. Firearms followed, ensuring that everyone had at least a fair chance of defending themselves. The diversion had done it's job, taking the agents' minds from the loss of their team mate and setting them into action. It was as if preparing for a sting was just part of a normal day. They were focused and ready to go.

Gibbs knelt down, checking his backup weapon and adjusting the knife garter he wore around the outside of his pants. It held a sheathed hunting knife, long and jagged, another line of defense he'd added at the suggestion of the brothers. He caught Dean's eye, a slight, knowing smile touching his lips. Once a soldier, always a soldier.

"Listen up," the older brother started, looking around at the small team, "once we're inside, there's no turning back." He checked the Colt's loading chamber absently, spinning and locking it into place before sliding the gun back to its resting place. "You've never dealt with anything like this before. These women are _strong_. You do _not_ want to be caught fighting these chicks hand-to-hand. Take them down ranged if you can. If not, you have to be faster than they are."

Tony swallowed over the lump in his throat, ignoring the chill that walked up his spine. Instead, he fixed a brilliant smile to his face, popping up a mask of confidence he didn't really feel. "That's all then?"

"Pretty much." The younger brother studied the agent closely before turning to Zerachiel. "I'll break the symbol outside so you two can get in. Cas, can you stick to the agents?"

The angel gave a short nod.

Sam shrugged, easing the tension from his back and shoulders before hoisting his weapon, cocking the sawed-off. "Let's move out."

**tbc...**

**A/N2: I'm sorry it's so short. I have struggled so much with this chapter since I started. I know that it's a bit stilted as well (I'm not happy with this at all), but I hope you'll forgive me. Next, and possibly, the last chapter of Part 1 will be up within the next few days. Part 2 of the Valkyrie series will be started next week. Keep an eye out.**

**Thanks for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy. ~Cas**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hoping you enjoy this. :) Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the encouragement.**

Having cut through the fence and silently disposed of the two guards out front, the small team crept along the side of the shelter, the angels waiting a safe distance away, out of view of any of the windows. Castiel's eyes followed the tall frame of the younger Winchester as he drew his knife, the glint of the metal catching in the faint light from the closest streetlamp.

Dean, leading the group, moved to the front door, reaching into his pocket for his lock picks while Sam hung back, his knife scraping at the almost invisible marking on the wall next to him. Despite his efforts, however, the symbol remained unbroken, even as the others made their way inside. Nervously, he cast a glance back toward the cars, searching for another way to do what needed to be done without alerting those inside to their presence.

That worry, however, was cast aside as he heard the first gun shot, followed by an alarmed yell. Spurred by anxiety, Sam thrust the stake against the wall with all his might, drawing back to hit the solid structure again and again until he felt the stake crack from the abuse.

"Shit!" he spat, his eyes scanning the ground for something harder to work with. The sounds from inside were growing more frantic and louder, signaling that the Valkyries inside were now somewhat organized and fighting back. In desperation, stood back, taking aim with his pistol and pulling back the hammer...

**000086753090000**

Dean heard the promising click as he picked the lock to the front door and released his held breath as the knob turned under his now-sweaty palm. He nodded to the senior agent at his elbow, the team filing silently past him as he pulled the door open, their guns held ready in front of them.

It was dark inside and they paused, allowing their eyes to adjust, giving them the ability to pick shapes out in front of them. Tony crept forward, pressing his back against the wall and peering around the corner into the next room, giving the nod to his boss to advance. Two steps into the room, the office door behind them flew open, the sudden bright light momentarily blinding them as Sharon, the mousy little woman, stepped into view, her eyes blazing.

She grabbed for Dean, her grip steely around his wrist as she yanked him toward her. "It's about time you showed your face again," she laughed. "We weren't sure you'd gotten the message."

"Oh, we got it, lady," he snarled, the resounding shot from the Colt seeming to rebound from the corners of the room.

She stumbled back, dropping her grip, her eyes wide as she stared down at the red that slowly soaked her sickly pink jacket. The familiar electric spark seemed to course through her as the bullet took its effect, draining her life force.

"What...what have you done?" She looked up at her killer, her mouth slightly agape. "How...?" The words froze in her throat as the muscles in her face twitched and her body fell heavily to the floor.

Shouts sounded from deeper inside the building as the inhabitants stirred, alerted by the sound of the gunshot. Lights began to flicker on, giving away their position and draining their element of surprise. On silent order, Tony took aim on the nearest, his shot hitting her directly in the chest, ordinarily, an instant kill shot. She, however, kept moving, staggering only slightly.

Gibbs fired another round, catching her between the eyes. Another took her place as she fell, silver glinting in her hand as she released the throwing stars she held, her aim deadly as the objects hurtled toward their targets.

**000086753090000**

Ziva rolled out of bed as the shouts woke her from her light slumber. It was rare during undercover ops that she slept heavily, ready to be up and out the door in seconds in case anything should go wrong. Allowing only seconds for her mind to process what was happening, she affixed the glasses to her face, reaching under the edge of her bed for the overnight bag she had packed. Wrapped tightly in a shirt at the bottom laid her firearm, which she retrieved effortlessly, checking the safety before edging out into the hallway, her ears straining to discern what was going on.

She froze momentarily as she heard a barked order from her boss, followed by another gunshot and a thud.

The cry of "Tony!" echoed down the hall, the hint of panic in her boss' voice spurring her feet into action again, carrying her down the hall. She paused as someone exited the room in front of her, recognizing her as one of the women that had been at the ceremony the night before. Deftly, she brought the butt of the gun down against the back of the woman's head, dropping her.

She continued, glancing around the corner to where the three men were. Her eyes came to rest on Gibbs as he stood guard over the agent who laid still on the floor. Tony. Dean stepped forward, raising his own gun and taking aim at the next woman who rushed at them. Ziva flinched as the gun went off, caught off guard at the electricity that hummed from the wound as the Valkyrie fell.

"Gibbs!" she called.

"We're here, Ziver," he replied, his eye catching sight of her as she looked around the corner. He motioned for her to continue, breathing a sigh of relief as she stepped out into the room, seeing her clearly unharmed.

Ziva found herself stopped short, yanked back by her hair, a strong arm snaking around her neck to hold her firm.

"I was wondering if our message would go through," someone murmured in her ear.

"Leslie." It wasn't a question. She recognized the voice, however faint it was.

"Excellent job, Ziva, bringing them here."

Biting back a curse, the Israeli held herself still, hissing through her teeth in warning.

"Yes, you were used, but I meant what I said." The corners of Leslie's mouth turned up in a smile. "You _are _a warrior, Ziva. You have the heart of a Valkyrie."

"I will never be like you."

**000086753090000**

Sam fired his weapon, his shots precise as he emptied a full chamber into the symbol, finally cracking through the drawing that kept the angels warded away. Kicking away the shattered wood at his feet, he sprinted toward the door, throwing himself inside, reloading as he ran. It was time to end this.

**000086753090000**

"Let her go," Dean demanded, the Colt leveled evenly at Leslie.

"Dean, Dean,...Dean," she taunted, her eyes lighting as Sam burst into the room behind him. "And brother. Perfect. The final sacrifices are in place." She forced Ziva forward, her eyes coming to rest on the senior agent as another smile spread across her face. "And you. Where did _you_ come from?"

"Either of you have a shot?" Gibbs asked, Ziva directly in his trajectory.

"No." Sam, however, kept his gun aimed at the two women, pulling back the hammer.

"I think our father will be...very pleased with you, too." She adjusted her hold on Ziva's neck.

"He won't have a chance to know."

Leslie jerked her head around, hearing the voice sound to her right. Her eyes widened as she found herself face to face with Zerachiel. Ziva brought an elbow hard against her captor's midsection, loosening her grip enough to slip away, retrieving her gun and backing a few steps away, Leslie in her cross hairs.

"You don't want to do this." She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, only casting a brief glance at Ziva, almost in dismissal.

"Oh, yes, we do," Castiel sounded, suddenly behind her. "It's over."

"It's only just beginning." She smiled again, a sinister smile that darkened her eyes, her muscles tensing as she prepared for the impending fight. "There are more of us than there are of you."

**tbc...**

**Sorry it's so short again, but some things have came up. I intended for this to be the last chapter of part 1, but there will be one more. :) As always, I hope you enjoy, and thanks again for all of the support and encouragement.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I would like to thank you all for your wonderful support. I've been struggling greatly with finishing this story for you all. Even writing this is difficult for some reason. Unfortunately, after this is posted, I will be taking a break from fanfic; posts will be further between, but should still be coming every week or so. It's a career choice as I will be working on several novels. If you're interested, stay posted on my fanfic profile, or find me as Casmoiraitiel on facebook where occasional teasers might be posted. Thanks, again. You all have made writing fanfic so fun. :)**

Leslie's words seemed to trigger an influx of Valkyries, befuddling the small team. Ziva's intel had led them to believe than no more than ten of the women warriors were in the building, yet they seemed to pour from every open door in the building, lining the room, weapons drawn and aimed directly at the two angels. Castiel's eyes slowly traveled the growing army, careful to keep his own surprise in check. Silently testing the waters, he found other warding magicks in use that reduced his own abilities, making both him and Zerachiel vulnerable to injury.

"Like I said," Leslie said tauntingly, another smile dancing across her lips, "there are more of us than there are you."

Ziva crept slowly back toward the door, casting a fearful glance back at her boss, her eyes clearly asking the question no one else had dared to voice yet. The look that crossed his face wasn't promising. Seeing the exchange, Dean stepped over Tony's still body, jerking his head back toward the agent, wordlessly ordering her behind him. Gibbs, Sam, and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder, creating a human barrier as Ziva ducked between them, kneeling at her partner's side.

"Give up now, Castiel." Leslie had turned to face him fully, her stance challenging as she now had support all around her.

"Ya know," Dean interjected, his hold on his gun steady, "you talk too much." His finger twitched against the trigger.

She laughed, genuinely amused. "Easy there, cowboy." Her hand came to rest on the dagger at her side. "Kill me and everyone dies."

The older Winchester met Castiel's gaze, for the first time a hint of fear crossing over his face. It was uncertainty. He needed direction. He needed someone else to speak for the team. Castiel had brought them here for a purpose, and now they were down two agents. He fought the urge to look behind him, fought the urge to know if the magic cast at Tony had killed him. Distractions were something they could not afford now, at any cost.

The angel, however, stood stoically, his face expressionless as it normally was. His eyes followed the blonde warrior as she strode across the room to the nearest Valkyrie, her fingertips brushing lightly against the other woman's cheek. She repeated the intimate gesture with the few women who stood close, looking into each of their eyes before turning to stand in their midst, surrounded by her army.

"Oh, God," Dean groaned, rolling his eyes, "it's like freakin' Xena – Warrior Princess all over again. That died in the '90s, lady."

Her icy gaze seemed to cut him through, but she otherwise ignored his statement, her voice raising as she addressed the entire room. "My sisters, the time has come! The final sacrifice to raise our father is upon us."

A cheer erupted in elated rapture, carrying through the room.

"Our lambs are here," she pressed on, her voice triumphant, "fat for the slaughter. Our father shall bathe in their heart blood!" She raised her hand, pointing at Sam and Dean, drawing the attention of everyone gathered to the two brothers. "Attack!"

Time seemed to slow as the room came alive, weapons appearing en masse as the women broke into movement. All thoughts of where these women might have came from honed in on the only possibility as their eyes followed the eruption in activity. None of these women had been recruited. They were all trained. A curse fell from Dean's lips, unnoticed as he redirected the aim of his Colt, bringing down the Valkyrie nearest him.

They scrambled for a better defensive position, Ziva pulling Tony's limp form into the office behind them as the three standing men barricaded themselves at the door, using their position to quickly drop the first wave that came at them. While the Colt dropped the enemy permanently, the others found they had to fire repeatedly into their target in order to drop them, injuring them too badly to continue the fight. Reloading was becoming a problem, and Sam soon abandoned his gun, kicking it into the office behind them as he drew the demon blade, holding it before him in beckoning invitation.

Castiel and Zerachiel found themselves at the center of the conflict, dodging daggers and blades as they danced dangerously close to their skin. The realization that their power had been keyed down in this building hit hard as they focused all of their energy on trying not to get hit while replying in kind with their own attacks. Their exertion was drowned out by the cacophony of noise rebounding from every corner.

Dean struggled to keep up the reloading of the Colt, knowing it was the only sure fire defense they had against these women. He found a blind trust he didn't realize he'd had in the two men at his side, trusting them to hold the waves at bay until he could begin firing again. The gun had never seen this much action before and speed-reloading was near impossible. Gibbs, at least, was able to reload in only seconds, but Sam's blade was already beginning to see it's share of action. The Valkyries were reaching the door.

The only reprieve they found was the lack of thrown weapons in the confined space. The women warriors, fearful of hitting their own, had opted for close range weapons to minimalize misfires.

Forcing herself to ignore the commotion, Ziva checked for Tony's pulse with shaking hands. It was weak, barely fluttering against her fingertips. Choice Hebrew curses dropped from her lips as she shifted, pulling her partner into her lap, carefully supporting his head. The desk provided an extra barrier between them and the men at the door. If the fight moved outside the office, she might be able to sneak her partner out of the building and get him to safety.

"Stay with me, Tony," she murmured, chancing to glance around the edge of the desk, catching brief glances of the battle ensuing just outside the door. Gently, she eased Tony back against the floor, stacking a few file folders under his head to keep it off of the cold tile. She found her feet again, easing to stand back-up at her boss' side.

"How is he?" Gibbs demanded roughly, his hand instinctively going for another clip.

"Alive!" she responded, firing a round into a woman she recognized from the group session.

Her announcement brought noticeable relief to the three men, giving them a second wind. Gibbs discarded his firearm, reaching for his backup and immediately emptying it into the next enemy in line. It, too, found it's way across the floor as his hands closed around the solid wood of the stake Castiel had brought them.

Hands closed around Dean's collar, the resulting jerk sending the bullets in his hand cascading to the floor. He stumbled forward as he was pulled back into the main room, dodging a deftly held sword aimed directly at his neck.

Panic gripped in Sam's chest, making it hard for him to breathe. "Dean!" he called, jumping immediately to his brother's defense, the blade he held singing as it arched through the air to strike.

The floor was slick with blood and footing was uncertain, adding another level of obstacles to what they faced. They slipped at inopportune moments, the first of which granted Dean a nasty slice across his forearm. His cry of rage and pain seemed to renew the fighting spirit of the Valkyrie and a shout of triumph sounded from the woman who had wounded him, battle frenzy blazing brightly in her eyes.

A primal fury sprang to life in Sam's belly, the same anger that had fueled him before Lucifer had taken his body. Like a man possessed, he launched himself toward her, his blade slamming heavily into her chest. An odd sense of satisfaction filled him as he watched the light fade from her eyes, her body falling heavily to the floor.

"Sammy, look out!"

The cry came just in time for him to duck away from the dagger aimed at his back, spinning to thrust the demon blade up into the abdomen of the attacker, drawing it up the length of her torso before kicking her aside.

Dean struggled back to his feet, tackling the next closest to him, pulling a hunting knife from his hip sheathe. This was much messier than he liked and it took multiple fatal wounds to drop the Valkyrie this way, but it was too late. Just as Leslie had said, there were simply too many of them, and they found themselves tiring quickly from the exertion.

**000086753090000**

Horrified, Abby found she couldn't tear her eyes away from what she was seeing on the portable monitor. Equally disturbed, Ducky found himself gripping the weapon he'd been given, his knuckles white from the death grip.

The moment Tony had fell, Abby had shrieked and Ducky had had to hold her in the cab of the truck. Only when they'd heard Ziva's announcement that he was alive did either of them relax.

"Ducky, they're not gonna make it out of there alive, are they?" she asked, her voice small and her big eyes filled with tears.

Ducky blinked. It was completely out of character for Abby to be so hopeless. When it came to her team, she always took it on blind faith that they would persevere, berating anyone who said otherwise. The words shocked him back into a sense of himself, taking his mind from the horror that unfolded before them.

"My dear Abigail,..." he trailed off, trying to convey everything he needed to as he met her eyes. "Don't give up hope."

**000086753090000**

Everything hurt. Tony groaned as consciousness slowly returned to his body, bringing pain with it in waves. The sounds of battle seemed muted and distorted, confusing him. It took him a long moment to remember where he was. Startled at the realization, his eyes flew open and he pushed himself upright, immediately regretting the action as a dizzying rush filled his head.

His vision swam, and he squinted, trying to force everything to stay in focus. Blood was the first thing he noticed as he pulled himself from behind the desk. It coated the floor in a thick, sickening glaze, arterial spray painting the walls and parts of the ceiling like a child's finger painting. The sight caused his stomach to clench, bile rising to the back of his throat, filling his mouth with sour. He swallowed down as much as he could, unsteadily finding his footing, drawing his weapon from its holster.

_Pull it together, DiNozzo,_ he coached himself, taking deep breaths in through his nose. His entire body was weak, and holding the gun was proving most difficult, his hand shaking uncontrollably. _Your team needs you._ He peeked around the door, just managing to pick out the silver hair of his boss glinting in the florescent light.

He started out across the slick floor, his passage going unnoticed by those swarming in on the brothers. He found himself in shock over the bodies that littered the floor, his eyes barely able to affirm that none of his team laid among them.

His shoulder found the wall for support and he raised his gun with both hands, taking aim at the nearest Valkyrie, his shots ringing true though he found it difficult to see. She fell heavily. He found the next, methodically taking out the outer ring of attackers. It seemed that the angels and the small team had been rounded into the center of the foray. It would only be a matter of time before they were disarmed and captured.

Now aware of his presence, Tony soon found himself under fire, unable to dodge the dagger that flew his way, released from a skilled hand. It slammed home through the muscle of his shoulder, scraping against bone as it drove him back against the wall. He cried out feebly, unable to draw forth the energy to respond appropriately to the pain. Gasping for air, he stumbled away, his arm hanging uselessly by his side. He'd never been one for crying, but he couldn't fight back the hot wetness that stung his eyes, a tear escaping to run down his cheek.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs' belllow echoed loudly and he pushed at the mass crushing in on them, fighting to get to his senior field agent. A strength that he'd never felt before flared to life in him as he saw Tony barely deflect another attack, knowing that the man had signed his death warrant. "No!" He barely noticed himself deflect a fatal blow himself, turning the blade back on his assailant. The only thought that filled his mind now was rescue. He had to save Anthony DiNozzo.

"Surrender!" Leslie called out her order. "Surrender and spare your friends."

Dean struggled with the Colt, his hands slick with blood, his grip weak from the wounds he had sustained. Angry slashes covered his forearms where he'd had no other means to defend himself. He'd caught an awkward jab to his hip that had nearly immobilized him, the pain blinding as the jagged knife had burrowed into his bone. Sidelong glances showed that everyone had sustained several heavily bleeding injuries. It wouldn't be long before the fight would be over.

He swung the chamber shut, the familiar click seeming to echo above the din of battle and dying. He drew back the hammer, looking over at his brother. There was no way he'd let either of them be taken alive. An understanding nod from Sam seemed to indicate he was was thinking the same.

He steadied himself, raising the gun, finding his mark and squeezing the trigger. Despite being hidden among her sisters, Dean's aim was true, and the bullet struck Leslie between the eyes, dropping her instantly.

Several things happened in that moment. An immediate difference could be felt in the air as their apparent leader bled out on the floor. Cries of outrage and wails of loss sounded from the Valkyries as they continued their assault, revenge now fueling their drive. The death of Leslie, however, broke the magic stifling the angels' power and Castiel found himself knocking back the inner wall surrounding their cluster.

"Shield your eyes!" he cried out, Zerachiel mirroring his movements as he stretched his arms wide, holy light bursting forth from his body to engulf the room.

Tormented screams rose in tandem, filling the air for a brief moment before dissipating, disappearing as the light faded, leaving them standing alone in a room full of bodies.

Stunned silence greeted the horrific scape before them as Castiel and Zerachiel staggered away, resting against the wall. They had sustained many injuries just as the rest of the group had, and expending the energy to clear the room had drained them. There would be no healing for anyone tonight.

Gibbs was the first to move, dropping the bloody stake to the floor and rushing to his senior field agent, dropping unsteadily to his knees as he fought to keep himself upright. His hands grasped for Tony, pulling the agent against his chest. He ignored the fatigue and the darkness that clouded his vision, the whole of his focus honing in on the very pale, very still man he held in his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest.

"DiNozzo," he managed, his blood-soaked hand searching for the jugular vein, hoping for a pulse. "Dammit, DiNozzo, you are _not_ gonna die on me. You hear me?" His own heart seemed to stop as he waited to feel anything beneath his fingers that signaled life. He released his held breath, almost sobbing in relief as he felt the first faint rhythm, telling him that Tony was still there, with him. This boy was like a son to him and the thought of losing him had nearly driven Gibbs mad. "Get in here, Ducky!" he ordered, praying that the surveillance equipment hadn't been fried.

Ziva dropped to her knees beside her teammates, nursing her right arm, her normally golden skin a sickly pale ashen color and her eyes dull. Dean and Sam were left alone in the center of the room, watching the agents cling to each other. It stirred something in Dean that he hadn't felt in a very long time. They were family.

"Dean."

Sam's quiet voice broke his concentration and his head drifted toward the sound of its own accord. The younger Winchester easily slipped his arm around his brother's waist as Dean's legs gave out. No one had made it through the ordeal unscathed and they weren't out of the woods yet. Carefully, they supported each other across the room, managing to just make it to the agents by the door before collapsing.

Ducky ran through the door, his medical bag clasped tightly in his hands. Abby was right on his heels, pale and shaking, but coherent enough to take orders from the doctor who set her to work on Dean, who, besides Tony, seemed to have taken the most damage. Ducky himself took over the care of Tony, cutting the fabric of his tee shirt away.

The dagger was still lodged in Tony's shoulder, and two deep slashes marred his torso. Any deeper and he would have spilled his guts on the floor.

"Jethro," Ducky managed, shaking his head, "we need the hospital and we need it now."

"You should go." Timothy McGee's angel-deepened voice drew their attention to the severely weakened angel. "There is little time. Those after Castiel will be here soon. That energy is like a beacon."

"I can't move them alone!" Ducky retorted testily, attempting to stem the blood oozing from Tony's midsection.

"I never said you had to." In a moment that showed that McGee still shone through the angel, an understanding sadness filled his eyes and he reached forward, touching Tony and Ziva. "Drive hard and don't look back. This is all I can offer for now."

In a blink, they found themselves situated in their vehicles, Ducky at the wheel of Gibbs truck with a heavily bleeding Ziva wedged between him and Abby. Sam found himself at the wheel of the Impala, Dean leaned heavily against the passenger side door with Gibbs cradling Tony in the backseat. There was no hesitation, no time for shock. The engines fired to life and they pulled away from the curb, Sam following closely behind Ducky as they sped toward their only hope of healing.

Sam found his vision darkening as his adrenaline faded and he tried to force himself to remain alert. He'd lost a lot of blood and felt blackness threatening to consume him. Gibbs, too, was fading in the backseat, his head lolling listlessly about his shoulders, his grip on Tony loosening.

A hospital had never been so welcoming. Bethesda finally appeared in front of them and Ducky drove up to the front door, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the Impala in the rear view. He scrambled out of the car as the Impala slowed, swerved, and buried itself into the bushes, the momentum thankfully slow enough to stop them. Ducky sprang from the truck, ordering Abby to get help as he ran to the car, pulling the door open, reaching across an unconscious Sam to put the car in park and cut the engine as he checked for a pulse.

Gibbs' limp form in the backseat caught his eye, a pale blue tinting his lips. He had started pulling his old friend from the car to begin CPR when the orderlies came rushing out with gurneys, followed closely by nurses. Abby was close behind them, stopping short as she saw Ducky hovering over a very-still Gibbs.

"Stand aside, sir," one of the nurses ordered, pulling at Ducky.

At a loss, the doctor stumbled back, watching numbly as the bodies were removed from the vehicles and loaded onto beds, nurses straddling Tony and Gibbs, beginning chest compressions as the orderlies rushed the gurneys inside, toward the Emergency Room. He jumped, startled, as he felt Abby's hand close over his, shocking him back to the present.

"Ducky," she whispered hoarsely, her burning question evident without having to speak it. Was Gibbs alive?

He met her eyes, his own filling with tears. "I certainly hope so, Abigail." He pulled her close and there, at the entrance of the hospital, they cried, clinging to one another as if their lives depended on it.

**000086753090000**

"What the hell happened?" the doctor standing over Tony demanded, his eyes flitting over the beeping machine by the bed. His blood pressure was dropping rapidly, and the machine responded by beeping loudly, signaling cardiac arrest. The nurses sprang into action, pulling out the crash cart, readying the defibrillator paddles to shock his heart back into rhythm.

"Don't know," one of the nurses responded, waiting as the first shock coursed through the agent's body with no effect, "but there are five of them. All agents, I think. Clear." She shocked him again. "Increasing to 400."

They worked on Tony for a good two minutes before finally reestablishing a steady rhythm, the doctor having ordered an adrenaline shot administered. The nurses set about ensuring that the agent was stable, hooking him to a ventilator and setting up blood transfusions as the doctor worked on the dagger lodged in his shoulder.

"They all look this bad?" the doctor ventured, his skilled hands making quick work of the blade, handing the dislodged weapon to the nearest nurse.

"Yeah," the same woman answered, "must've been one hell of a fight."

**000086753090000**

The angels that had followed Castiel's energy found themselves standing in a room full of bodies and nothing more. After a thorough search, they had reluctantly left, convinced that he had evaded them again. Cloaked from their view, both Castiel and Zerachiel had managed to watch the angels from the spot they had chosen to rest against. It had taken the rest of their energy to maintain the illusion until the would-be assassins had left.

Feeling the weakness overpower him, Castiel only managed to shuffle listlessly across the floor. One more fight would be the end of him. Long moments seemed to pass before he stood over Leslie's body, bending down slowly to snap the leather-bound pendant from around her neck. He held the wooden horn in his hand, easing slowly back up to stand straight.

"Is that it?" Zerachiel asked, not having bothered to move any further.

Castiel's eyes traveled over the intricate engraving that decorated the horn, finding the cork-wood stopper at the mouth of the instrument. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes. This is it."

"The souls."

"Yes. The souls. All of them." He found he could not tear his eyes away.

"That's what it's all about, then." It was a statement, not a question. Zerachiel had figured his friend out long before.

"Yes." Castiel's voice held no levity and no reassurance. He faced Zerachiel with cold, calculating eyes, his fist closing around the horn. "It's all about the souls.

_~Fin!~_

**A cliffie at the _end_ of a story? Yes! I think so! :) (Please, don't hate me ^.^ I'm adorable, really). This has been a labor of love on my part, finally finding inspiration after two weeks of staring at a blinking cursor with one single word written on the page.**

**If you enjoyed, then you'll come back for Part 2 – "A Warrior's Way." (It's a working title...might change. Hopefully not).**


End file.
